Beyond the Horizon
by Alexandra Lyman
Summary: AU: When Princess Emma's ship is captured by the Jolly Roger and Captain Killian Jones, she offers herself as a hostage for ransom if he will let the ship and the other passengers go. With Emma, Killian remembers the honour he once held dear, and Emma catches glimpses of the gentleman Killian had been. Against all odds, the pirate and the princess begin to fall for each other.
1. Blood in the Water

**Author's Note: So this is an AU fic, featuring Princess Emma and pirate Captain Killian Jones. I know it's been done, but I wanted to do my spin on this idea. **

**In this fic, Emma was never sent away as a baby and has grown up in the Enchanted Forest with her parents as princess of their kingdom. She is nineteen years old. Killian's backstory is the same, Naval Lieutenant, lost his brother Liam and turned pirate after his death, but he has never encountered Milah and/or Rumple, and he still has both hands. He is twenty-seven, and has been captaining the Jolly Roger as a pirate for about seven years.**

**There will be violence and M content in this fic, but it's not Dark!Hook (much as I love a good Dark!Hook fic, I'm going in a different direction). Hope you enjoy, and reviews are always welcome!**

**Chapter One: Blood in the Water**

"We have found nothing of value, Captain."

The speaker scrambled back, fear in his eyes as he delivered the news to the tall man dressed all in black.

"Nothing?"

An eyebrow rose, and the man in black, the Captain, turned to the figure kneeling on the deck before him. His voice was quiet, but the menace in his tone was unmistakable.

"This is not a passenger vessel as you continue to claim. This is a royal ship, you have attempted to disguise it, but not very well, I'm afraid. And a royal ship would not be travelling without something valuable."

Emma tensed, resisting the urge to bend her knees and try to conceal herself even further in the midst of the people who surrounded her. She could feel them press against her, hiding her from view and protecting her as best they could.

A loud crack rent the air and everyone flinched. The captain drew back his hand as if to strike again, staring down at the man he had just backhanded across the face, a cruel smirk on his handsome features.

"Now I will ask you one more time, where is it hidden?"

She bit her lip so hard she was surprised she didn't taste blood. She couldn't take her eyes off the scene unfolding before her. Captain Edmund Stewart, bruised and battered but staring defiantly up at the man who had ordered him to his knees, the man who had led the assault on their ship and stepped on it with an assured stride as if he owned it, the man dressed all in black who had announced his name proudly to the assembled captives on the deck.

Captain Killian Jones, of the Jolly Roger.

They had been overtaken by pirates.

Captain Stewart didn't answer, and Captain Jones heaved a heavy sigh. His eyes fell on the captives, and Emma ducked her head, willing herself invisible. She could feel the fear and apprehension radiating off everyone, hanging in the air, and she wanted to scream in frustration. They had been close, so close to safety, until this menace and his ship had shown up, seemingly out of nowhere, and cut them off. Emma had failed in her mission and she would never forgive herself.

"How many?" Captain Jones asked, directing his question to the crewman in the red cap standing beside him while he nodded towards the captives.

"No more than thirty," the crewman replied.

_"Thirty people"_ Emma thought, _"My people"_ Her responsibility. Her duty.

"We could feed 'em to the sharks," the crewman continued with an eager smile.

"And take the ship, aye," Captain Jones said, hand on his jaw as if he was thinking it over, "Or travel to the slave markets in the east. Thirty, looks like there's some strong men, they always fetch a good price."

Emma shuddered. Slavery was outlawed in her kingdom, as it was anywhere with a fair and just ruler, but there were places where such practices continued, where people were bought and sold to toil for cruel masters. Her people, shackled, put up for sale as if they were livestock, branded and separated forever, she couldn't let it happen. But what could she do?

"Care to jump in, Captain?" the pirate asked, smirking at Captain Stewart, "Got anything of value you could trade? If it's worth enough, I might be persuaded to spare your lives."

It hit her immediately, the makings of a rough plan that just might save them all. Emma drew back the hood of her plain cloak and took a breath to steady herself.

"I will trade myself for their lives, Captain Jones."

She stepped forward, her voice ringing loud and clear across the deck as she dropped the cloak and revealed herself. All heads swivelled to her, including Captain Jones, who was looking her up and down with obvious interest.

"And who might you be?" he asked.

Emma lifted her chin, "I am Princess Emma, daughter of Queen Snow White and King David, and you were right, Captain, this is a royal ship. Let the ship and my people go, and I offer myself as your hostage. My parents will pay quite handsomely for my safe return."

The very air around them changed. The pirates were all staring, eyes glittering with greed. Captain Stewart looked utterly horrified, "Your Highness, no!" he yelled, attempting to stand. The red capped crewman knocked him down.

Captain Jones's gaze had gone sharp and narrow, focused entirely on her. Emma saw him take in the silk gown, embroidered with golden threads, the gems at her neck and ears, everything she had hidden under the cloak when the pirates boarded. She knew she looked every inch what she was, and a brilliant smile bloomed over his face as he obviously realized exactly what had just dropped right into his lap.

He took a step towards her, and the two men flanking Emma pulled knives from under their sleeves, closing in front of her. Andrew and Richard, her two loyal bodyguards since babyhood, who would lay down their lives for her. As would everyone else, Emma could feel them all shuffle towards her, facing down the pirates as they tried to put themselves back in between her and the threat.

Captain Jones halted, eyeing the way everyone was closing ranks around her.

"Perhaps you would like to come over here, Princess, so that we may negotiate?" he asked, with an air of forced nonchalonce and feigned innocence on his face. Emma wasn't fooled.

"There is nothing to negotiate. You wanted something of value, I am that. Withdraw, leave my people unharmed, and I will go to your ship."

His face hardened again, "You are right, Princess, there is nothing to negotiate. Your men are outmatched and outgunned by mine. The only question now is how many will be cut down before I reach you."

"The answer to that, Captain, is none," Emma shot back.

She whirled around and pressed through the crowd, darting to the rail. She leapt up on a crate that had been pushed against it and backed up so that her calves were pressed against the edge. With one step, she could go over the side of the ship and tumble down to the dark waters below.

Emma could see the shock on all faces below her, but none more then Captain Jones.

"Withdraw your men or I will throw myself in and you will lose your prize."

"Emma!"

The voice nearly broke her heart. Her godmother, calling out to her. Emma briefly met Red's gaze before breaking away, feeling her nerves start to falter at the stricken look on the face she had loved all her life.

Captain Jones had lowered his head, eyes narrowed to slits as he obviously considered her threat, "Come now, don't be rash. Yes, you are quite the prize, but if you do jump, I still have your ship, and all these lovely slaves to sell. And your death would all be for nought."

"It would take weeks to sail to the nearest slave market, do you have enough provisions for thirty more people? Ask your men who searched us, we are almost out of food and water. Won't make anything if they all die along the way. And while the ship is worth money, it is not nearly as valuable nor as portable as I am. My kingdom is wealthy and I am the sole heir. My parents will pay whatever you desire. Do we have a deal?"

A few mingled shouts of protests came from her people, Emma recognized each voice but she refused to look. She had eyes only for Captain Jones, the man who had their lives in his hands, and was looking at her as if she had completely lost her mind. Which Emma supposed she had, but she would not let anything happen to her people. Not after what they had lost already.

"Are you truly prepared to give your life, Princess?" he asked, a dark challenge in his tone.

"For my people? They would die for me, and I would give my life for them a thousand times over if I could," Emma answered honestly.

Something flickered briefly over the pirate's face but it was gone before she could figure out what it was. He drew himself up to his full height and nodded at her.

"Well then, Highness, we have a deal. Come with me, and I give my word that your ship and people may leave freely."

He wasn't lying, Emma knew, knew for a fact, but something made her hesitate. She had to be certain that she wasn't wrong, and just because he wasn't lying now didn't mean he couldn't change his mind the second she got within arm's reach of him.

She had backed herself into a corner and she needed to figure a way out. Captain Jones was looking at her, a slight grin on his face as if he knew what she was thinking.

"The deal won't be on the table forever, Princess," he called out, and Emma bit back a very unladylike curse.

She spied the small launch, tied to the side of the ship, and got an idea.

"To ensure that you keep your word, Captain, I will be lowered down in the launch. My ship will depart, and you may retrieve me then. But if you break our deal I will give myself to the waves."

There was silence for a long moment. Captain Jones's eyes bored into hers, staring her down, but Emma was resolute, and she met his glare with her own. She was Snow White's daughter, and while she had not inherited her mother's raven hair or dark eyes, she felt the stirrings of steel down her spine, the will and courage that had sustained an exiled princess through her darkest times and had passed down into the blood that flowed in Emma's veins.

"Very well," the Captain said at last, and flicked his wrist dismissively, "Get on with it then, I don't have all day."

He withdrew a few paces and waved his crewmen back. Emma stepped down off the crate as Red flung herself forward, throwing her arms around her in a fierce hug.

"Emma, you can't do this," Red whispered in her ear, "There's got to be another way."

"There isn't!" Emma hissed back, "You heard him, he'll kill you all or sell you into slavery, or worse, if he finds out the real reward he could get. Red, you have to go, I won't have your blood on my hands."

She moved towards the launch as she spoke, her head bent and her hand on Red's arm. Emma's bodyguards had moved in front of them, blocking them from view, and she passed her godmother the small pouch she had concealed in her pocket.

"Go!" she said, pressing her lips to Red's forehead, "Lead them, keep them safe!"

Emma climbed into the launch.

"Lower me down and depart as soon as the Captain and his men have returned to their ship. That's an order," she added, pointedly, seeing the faces turned to her, ready to argue.

Tears were running down Red's face, and Emma felt her own welling behind her eyes, but she refused to give in and show weakness, not while the pirates could still see her.

"I will see you again," Red said, and Emma forced a smile.

"Of course you will."

She waved her people back so that Captain Jones had a clear view of her alone in the launch, and then she sat down and braced her hands under the wood plank of her seat.

"Lower me down."

The launch jerked as several members of the crew loosened the ropes that bound it to the ship. Emma held on as she was slowly lowered to the water, Red watching over the side of the ship. Captain Stewart's battered face appeared next to her.

"May the Gods protect you, Your Highness." he called.

"Safe journey, Captain." Emma said, and locking eyes with her godmother once more, mouthed, "I love you."

The small boat hit the water with surprising force, and Emma was jolted out of her seat. She pulled herself back up and reached for the oars, using them to turn the launch and clumsily steering herself away from her ship so she wouldn't be slammed back into it when it began to move.

When she had reached what felt like a safe distance, Emma looked back up and saw they were all at the rail, watching her. Her people. She kissed the tips of her fingers and raised them in salute, and they mirrored her. Her heart in her throat, Emma watched as the sails were raised and the ship slowly began to slide away. The launch rocked in the wake but held steady, and she gripped the oars tightly in her hands, hard enough to feel the wood bite into her palms. They would be safe. The scarlet hood of her godmother's cloak grew smaller, until it was nothing but a speck and finally disappeared from her view.

Emma looked over at the hull of the pirate ship, riding proud and tall in the water. She could see members of the crew on deck watching her, including the dark head of the captain.

Killian Jones.

Emma had heard tales of pirates, ruthless creatures who roamed the seas in search of treasure, hard and pitiless men who would as soon stick a knife in your belly as look at you. As with all tales there had to be an element of exaggeration, but based on a grain of truth.

And now she was in their hands.

Emma looked back at her ship, sailing away. Well, it was time to uphold her end of the bargain. She pulled on the oars, each stroke sending her closer and closer to the Jolly Roger. As she lined herself up with the hull, she saw a platform suspended on a rope begin to descend towards her. When it dropped low enough, it revealed the passenger riding it down. Captain Jones stood, one hand on the rope, the other extended out to her.

"A deal's a deal, Princess," he said with a hint of sarcasm.

Emma nodded and stood up. She took the proffered hand and stepped onto the platform. The Captain turned to face her. Close up, she saw that he had clear blue eyes that were looking at her with triumph.

"That was quite the little plan you came up with. I suppose you are more than just a pretty face."

"I suppose I am," Emma responded, dropping his hand and holding on to the rope. The Captain shouted an order, and the platform began to rise up. They were pulled up the side of the ship and swung over the rail. Captain Jones jumped down to the deck with ease, Emma followed once the platform had been lowered enough for her to step down without falling.

She could feel the eyes on her. Emma glanced around, wary. The ship looked surprisingly well-kept, the deck was clear and tidy, the wood polished and gleaming in the sunlight, but the crew was another story. She had never seen such disreputable looking men, and they all seemed to be armed to the teeth, knives and pistols shoved through belts, cutlasses strapped to their shoulders. If it had come to a fight, her people wouldn't have stood a chance.

Emma stood, feeling supremely out of place in her silk gown and jewels, and fear trickled down her throat and burned in her stomach. They could do anything to her.

_"Whatever they do, it doesn't matter",_ she thought, fiercely, _"As long as I'm alive, that's all that counts"._ Her heart hammered against her ribs, not quite soothed by her mental vow.

The Captain stood in front of her, arms crossed. Emma met his eye, and he spoke one word.

"Kneel."

She remembered Captain Stewart, forced to his knees and slapped in the face on the deck of her ship, and she wondered if Captain Jones planned to do that to her as well.

Her pride roared to attention, as Princess she only kneeled to two people, her mother and father, and she did so out of love and respect. Everyone else kneeled to her. But now was not the time to follow court etiquette, and she sank down to the deck, skirt folded under her legs and sitting back on her heels.

"Would you look at that boys, a Princess on her knees to me," the Captain said, and there was mocking laughter in response from the crew. Emma felt the colour flare in her cheeks, but she kept her face under control.

"Where's that defiance you showed on your ship now, Highness?"

Emma folded her hands in her lap demurely, "I see no point in antagonizing you, Captain. As you said, a deal's a deal. I am in your custody now, and I do not wish my stay aboard your ship to be any more...difficult, than it needs to be."

He sounded amused, "A pragmatist, then? Well, in that case you will have no issues in handing over your lovely jewelry to me now."

The Captain extended his hand, palm open and waiting. Emma pulled the sapphire drops from her ears and placed them in his grasp, then reached behind her neck and unfastened the matching necklace. The items were dropped into a pouch he produced from the depths of his coat. After a moment's hesitation, she pulled out her hair comb. It had been holding her snood in place and she felt her hair fall down her back as the netting was released. The rest she didn't care about, but the gold comb, adorned with two swans with delicate etched feathers and jewelled eyes, did bother her. It had been a birthday gift from her father when she turned 16 and began wearing her hair up, and she was loath to part with it. But she could hardly beg the pirate to let her keep it, not when it was obviously so valuable, and besides, it was just a thing. The importance was in her father's love for her, not the item itself.

Still, she swallowed with some difficulty when the comb disappeared in the pouch with her other gems.

"That's all?" Captain Jones asked, "No bracelets?"

Emma held up her hands, pushing up her sleeves to show her bare wrists. He grasped her hands lightly and turned them over, looking at her fingers.

"No rings? You are unmarried then, Princess?"

He sounded far too interested in her marital state. Emma pulled her hands back and dropped them into her lap again.

"I asked you a question and I strongly suggest you answer it."

His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the threatening undertone. Emma flicked her eyes back to him.

"I am not married," she said.

Captain Jones took a step back, "Mr. Smee!" he called.

"Yes, Captain!"

"Escort our lovely prisoner to the brig."

A crewman appeared at Emma's side, and she saw it was the man in the red cap. She stood up, and he pointed her to a hatch that undoubtedly led below decks.

"Oh, and Princess?"

Emma turned back at the Captain's voice.

"You will dine with me tonight in my cabin."

She didn't like the sound of that at all, but his tone was firm and she knew she didn't have a choice.

"As the Captain commands," she replied, and followed the man named Smee down into the ship.

The brig was a long narrow room, divided into two cells. Both were empty, but not for long. Smee opened one of the cells and gestured for her to enter. Emma stepped in, her head held high. The door was closed behind her and the key turned in the lock.

Smee stared at her through the bars. Emma felt her eyebrows raise and she barked out, "What?"

He jumped, "Nothing, ma'am," he said, and lifted his cap to her. He seemed to realize what he was doing halfway through the action, and it was hasty pulled back on his head. Smee scurried out of the brig, closing the outer door as he went, and Emma leaned forward, grasping the bars of her cell and closing her eyes.

_"Breathe,"_ she reminded herself. "_Breathe!"_

She forced herself to take several deep lungfuls of air, letting her mind go blank. The adrenaline she'd been running on since the pirate flag had been spotted in the sky was fading, leaving her feeling exhausted and slightly sick.

Emma turned, leaning her back on the bars and surveying her cell. It was tiny, just a cot bolted to the wall. She took a step and sat down on it. It was time to take stock.

She was still alive, and so far, unharmed. Captain Jones had bruised her pride by forcing her to kneel to him, but that was nothing, she could deal with bruised pride. Her visible jewels were gone, but the hidden gems in the lining of her corset were still there. They had not searched her, and Emma reached down, pulling up her skirt and fingering the dagger hidden in her boot. Not that it would be enough against an entire ship full of pirates, but it was reassuring to know she had a weapon at the ready. Then, of course, there was her ability, her secret gift to know when anyone lied to her.

Her fingers crept to her pocket, dipping in and retrieving her most precious possession. A somewhat battered-looking pewter compact mirror, innocuous enough that if it was found, it would most likely get overlooked. It didn't appear valuable, the metal chipped and worn, and the mirror slightly cloudy, as if permanently fogged.

Emma raised it with shaking hands and whispered, "Are they alive?"

An image formed in the mirror, and she watched as her parents appeared. They stared out at her, smiling softly, before they faded away. She closed the mirror, feeling a flash of relief. It wasn't a window into what they were doing right at the moment, and they couldn't see her, but as long as their image appeared, it meant that they were alive. It meant that the enemy hadn't won.

The Evil Queen.

Emma slipped the mirror back in her pocket. She had lived under Regina's shadow her entire life, the threat lurking in the darkness. Her mother's stepmother, who had tried for years to destroy them, without success.

Until now.

The rumours had reached the royal court six months prior. The Queen was gaining power again, and then it began. Unlike her previous attempts, this was quieter, no marching black knights or showy displays of magic, but their allies were disappearing, villages were burned to the ground in the night. She had become invisible, there was no sightings, no actual confirmation that it was even her, until the day Emma woke and discovered a basket of apples on her bedside table.

Her parents made a decision. Emma, along with their closest friends, the ones most likely to face the Queen's wrath, would be sent away to safety in another realm. She hadn't wanted to go, had begged and pleaded to stay, but her mother had grasped her hands and looked deep into her eyes.

_"Emma, you must. If she succeeds, she won't stop at my death. She will kill you simply for being my daughter and because I love you. That's what she really wants, to take away everyone I love before she destroys me. You must go, and lead our people to safety. They will follow you, and we will send for you as soon as she's really and truly gone and it's safe for you to return. Please sweetheart, I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."_

_Emma looked from her mother to her father, standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders. Her parents were almost always touching, their legendary love undiminished by the passage of two decades._

_"Papa," she whispered._

_"We love you so much. Please Emma," he said, echoing his wife._

So she had taken the magic beans and set off, sailing out of the kingdom in secret so that no hint of what they were planning could reach the Queen's ears through her spies. They had nearly reached the barren stretch of sea where they would open a portal and cross to another realm, beyond the Queen's reach, when the pirate ship had appeared and caught them.

Emma had passed the pouch containing the beans to Red. She closed her eyes. By now, they should have passed through to an unknown world. She was supposed to be with them, leading them, but a tiny part of her was glad that she wasn't, that she was still home, even if her kingdom was far away and she had no means to get back. The Queen would hardly come looking for her on a pirate ship, ironically, she was probably safer in the midst of a group of lawless degerates then she was in her own castle.

They would keep her alive, Emma was certain. A dead hostage was a worthless hostage, and she had seen the appraisal on the Captain's face when he looked at her. The gems she had given him were merely a fraction of her true worth, if he was a true pirate, he would be greedy for all he could get.

A ribbon of fear wound it's way through her stomach as she wondered about what else Captain Jones might be tempted to take.

_"Whatever they do to me, as long as I'm alive, it doesn't matter"_, she thought. She would survive, she would go back home, her parents would finally defeat Regina once and for all, and she wouldn't have to think about pirates ever again. They would send for Red and all the others, and they would finally live in peace.

She just had to make it through. Her mother had lived through exile, with all it's dangers, clinging to survival by her wits alone, and she had made it, and she had been stronger, and Emma would do the same.

She would make her mother proud.


	2. The Captain's Table

**Chapter Two: The Captain's Table**

The door squeaked on it's hinges as it was pushed open, and Emma stood up, back against the wall and instantly wary. But the face that appeared was not one she was expecting. It wasn't the captain, or Smee, or any of the other men she had seen on deck. A boy who could be no more than thirteen stood looking at her. He had a thick mop of sandy blonde hair and large dark eyes, and was a thin gangly thing, clearly caught on the cusp of turning from child to adult. Emma felt herself relax a fraction.

"Who are you?" she asked, and the boy stepped up to her cell, a shy smile on his face.

"Hello," he said, "My name's Fergus, and I'm the cabin boy to Captain Jones. He has sent me to bring you to his cabin for supper, er, to dine in his company."

Fergus produced a key and unlocked the cell. Emma stepped out, glad to be freed from the small confines.

"Pleased to meet you, Fergus."

"Are you really a Princess?" he asked, eyes wide and interested but lacking the greed and lust she had seen from the other men on the ship.

"I am," she replied, "Princess Emma," and swept down into a curtsey as if meeting an ambassador at court. Fergus looked thrilled, and she couldn't resist a smile.

"I've never seen a real Princess before."

"Well, I've never met any pirates before," Emma admitted.

The boy's chest puffed out with pride, "The Jolly Roger is the best there is, and there's no pirate that can compare to Captain Jones. He can take a ship in the blink of an eye and outrun an entire fleet."

"Really?" Emma asked, "Well, tell me of some of these exploits, then."

She was genuinely interested. The more information she had about the ship and it's captain, the better. Fergus was happy to oblige, nattering on as he led her through the bowels of the ship. He clearly hero-worshipped Captain Jones, who she supposed was a rather exciting figure to an impressionable lad.

"And they never even knew he had fooled them!" Fergus finished his tale as they arrived at an open door, "The captain's cabin, Emma, er, Princess, er, I mean, Your Highness," he tripped over his words, obviously trying to remember the correct form of address, and flushed scarlet, "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right," Emma said, smiling at him, which only made his blush grow deeper.

Captain Jones stood inside his cabin, arms folded across his chest. He raised an eyebrow and came to the door, "Welcome to my humble abode, Highness," he said, sweeping his arm out and giving her a half bow, "That will be all for now, Fergus, you may go to the galley and have your dinner."

"Aye, Captain," he said.

"Thank you for escorting me, Fergus."

He dipped his head shyly and whispered, "You're welcome," then he took off at a run.

"Bewitching members of my crew, Princess?"

Emma turned to Captain Jones. He sounded amused instead of annoyed, so she replied lightly, "A friendly face is a welcome sight, Captain, in my current situation. After all, one must seek allies wherever one can."

"Indeed."

He had removed the long coat he had worn when he boarded her ship and was clad in a black shirt and brilliant red vest. Several chains hung about his neck and heavy rings adorned his fingers. She had to admit he cut quite a striking figure.

Emma glanced around the cabin. She took in the desk, covered in maps and papers, the shelves, scattered with books and various knick knacks, the built in cabinets, all closed. She ignored the bed in the corner and settled her gaze on the small table, made up with linen and two place settings. Captain Jones pulled back one of the chairs and stood behind it, clearly indicating for her to sit.

Slightly surprised at the display of manners, Emma settled herself in the chair, smoothing out her skirt. The captain picked up the bottle sitting in the table and deftly uncorked it, pouring out wine into the two tumblers.

"Been saving this one for a special occasion," he said with a wink, and she forced a half smile.

He sat opposite her and raised his glass, "To a profitable alliance, Princess."

Emma picked up her wine with a bit of reluctance. Her mother's cardinal rule never to eat food given to you by an enemy rang in her head, but she didn't see how she could refuse his hospitality, and she could hardly go without sustenance for several days.

As if he sensed her discomfort, Captain Jones sipped from his glass, "It's not poisoned."

"And the food?" Emma asked, playing it off as a jest while she listened for a hint of a lie in the shadow of his words.

"I hardly went to all this trouble just to put something in you meal. I could have sent a tray to your cell if that was my intent."

He was telling the truth, so Emma lifted her glass in toast, "To a safe journey home," she said, and swallowed a small mouthful.

Dinner was fish, obviously fresh-caught, biscuits, and roasted potatoes. The captain's manners extended to the table, he handled himself with an elegance that belied the fact that he was a pirate. But the way he watched her still had Emma on edge.

"So," he said, pouring himself more wine, "How is it that a beauty such as yourself is unwed?"

Emma took a bite of fish to delay having to answer. His stare was intense, as deep and blue as the ocean they sailed on. While she chewed her food, he continued on,

"From my somewhat limited knowledge, shouldn't you have been betrothed and married off to some ponce of a Prince by now?"

She put down her fork, and went with the truth. It was hardly a secret, after all.

"Normally, yes. But my father broke his arranged engagement to marry my mother after they fell in love. My parents have not accepted any betrothal offers because they want me to make my own choice."

"And you have not...chosen anyone?"

She'd had a few brief romances with suitors who had come to court her, but none had tempted her into accepting a proposal.

"No," Emma answered, "I have not."

Captain Jones tented his fingers together and looked at her like she was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen, "And why's that, Princess?"

Because she would accept nothing less than a man who looked at her the way her father looked at her mother. Emma had been the recipient of courtly flattery and fine gifts from the lords who had come to call, and many had professed to love her, but none had done so with the full force of truth that she heard when her parents spoke to each other. But she would hardly share that with Captain Jones, so she played the spoiled beauty that many believed her to be, "So many suitors to choose from. You know, I'm just a girl who can't make up her mind."

He chuckled, "The girl who stood on the deck of her ship and negotiated with a pirate captain using her own life as a bargaining chip does not strike me as the type who can't make up her mind."

It sounded like praise and she found it strange that he would compliment her actions when she had thwarted his attempt to take her ship as well as her.

"So tell me, would you have really jumped? Drowning's not a pleasant death."

"Is any death pleasant?" Emma asked, and saw his eyelid flicker, "Did you believe I would have jumped?"

"There are many who would not," Captain Jones remarked over the rim of his glass.

"Perhaps. But if I made you believe that I would, well, that's all that mattered, isn't it?"

The wine made his lips a dark red, like blood on the muzzle of a wolf, and his smile was just as predatory. He flicked his tongue over the drops, never taking his eyes of her, "So it was a spot of deception then? Something that royalty is particularly skilled at."

"And pirates aren't?"

She caught her breath, wondering how the words had slipped out. Emma dug her nails into her palm, under the table, reminding herself of where she was and who she was with.

But Captain Jones threw back his head and laughed, "You've a ways to go before you can deceive the way a pirate can, Highness. That was no trick, you would have thrown yourself in. I could see it on your face."

He speared a bite of fish with his knife and popped it in his mouth. Feeling relieved that she hadn't angered him, Emma bent back down to her meal. They ate in silence, and she was grateful that he didn't continue with his interrogation. She watched him from underneath her lowered lashes, years of practice at formal banquets coming into play. He kept looking at her, studying her across the table and she felt like the hapless fish must have when it had been caught in the net.

When the meal was done he leaned back in his chair, still watching her. Emma folded her napkin, "Thank you for dinner," she said, politely.

"A true diplomat. You are my prisoner, and yet you act as if you are an honoured guest."

"I doubt you invite all prisoners to your table, Captain, so can't I be both?"

Captain Jones seemed to consider the question, "I suppose you are already. Most prisoners would not even have the courage to ask. They have a tendency to scream and cower at my feet when they find themselves in the unfortunate position of being at my mercy."

There was a hint of warning in his voice, a reminder of which one of them was truly in charge, but Emma sensed that it wasn't a direct threat.

"I am grateful for every mercy you have shown to me thus far, Captain."

It was the honest truth, and apparently the right thing to say. Captain Jones nodded,

"Well, my lovely princess, you will continue to show your gratitude with your delightful companionship at my table."

Emma wondered if that was all he wanted, it seemed unlikely, and she was very conscious of the fact that they were alone together in his cabin, a bed only a foot or two away. But he made no move towards her, finishing off the last of the wine and asking her another question.

"How long has your father been King?"

"Since the day he married my mother. It's her kingdom," Emma answered.

He paused, "And you said you are their sole heir? So one day you will follow in your mother's footsteps and be Queen?"

Emma's hands clenched in her lap, "Not for many years. My mother is young and in good health. She will rule for several decades to come."

Captain Jones smirked, "I'd drink to that, but I do not toast to the health of any sovereign, even one who has raised such a spirited daughter as yourself."

He stood up and went to the door, opening it and calling out, "Fergus!"

The boy must have been waiting outside, Emma saw his blond head pop into view.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Clear the table while I take the princess back to the brig."

Emma stood up at his words, grateful that the surreal dinner was over. Captain Jones led her through the ship, one hand placed lightly at the small of her back. She had faltered slightly when she had felt the small weight, so innocuous and yet somehow not, but she squared her shoulders and walked with ramrod posture.

The hand was removed when she entered the cell, the barred door swung shut and Captain Jones turned the key in the lock.

"Sweet dreams, my sweet Princess," he said, and smiled, a flash of white teeth in the dark room. He reached for her hand through the bars and brought it towards him, forcing her to step closer. Eyebrows raised slightly, he bent over her hand and brushed his lips lightly over her knuckles. Emma felt the warmth, the surprising softness of his mouth, and suppressed a shiver. Captain Jones released her, and she took two steps back, watching him. He said nothing, merely nodding at her before leaving the brig.

She sat down heavily on the cot. He was quite the enigma, a pirate who could easily have been a courtier. But she couldn't think about him right now. Emma waited in tortured silence, until she was sure he was gone and wasn't coming back, and quickly retrieved the enchanted mirror.

"Are they alive?" she whispered into it, and stopped breathing as she waited for her parents to appear. When she saw them, smiling as if they could see her, hot tears spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

Emma lay down on the cot, curling her body around the mirror clutched in her hand, and sobbed. Her fear, her anger, her worry and tension, it all came out, and she cried herself to sleep.

...

...

...

In the dark cabin, Killian lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. The day had been long and tiring, and he should be sleeping, but he was far too exhilarated. They had stalked the ship for two days and nights before making their move, swooping in with the fast speed the Jolly was unmatched in, mooring themselves to the other vessel with thrown hooks and lines, boarding and subduing the crew and passengers with ease. From the moment he had first spotted it in his spyglass, eyeing the elegant lines of the hull, the clean sails, the obvious care and workmanship, he knew it was not a mere merchant vessel, and pegged it as something more. And he had been right.

But even he was stunned at the prize he had found.

When the princess had revealed herself, a golden-haired beauty in silks and jewels, he had literally felt his mouth water at the sight of her. Her stunning offer to give herself as his hostage had thrown him off-kilter, and the steely resolve she had shown when she threatened to drown herself if he didn't release her ship had absolutely floored him. Her way of forcing him to keep his word by launching the small boat with her in it had been an utter master stroke, even if it had been unnecessary. He would have let her ship go once he agreed to her terms, but she wanted to secure their safe passage and was willing to fight for it with the weapons she had at her disposal. Clearly there was far more to this Princess Emma than just her title and pretty face.

Killian thought that royalty were beyond useless, spoiled puppet masters who thought nothing of the lives of the people they ruled. Since the day his brother had died and he'd thrown off the yoke of royal servitude, he'd sworn that no King or Queen was worth any fealty, and sailed off under the pirate flag. But this mere slip of a girl had sworn her life for the lives of others, and he believed that she would have done it, she would have died for the people she claimed as her own. He would never admit it, but he had been impressed.

The feeling grew when he had her on his ship and commanded her to kneel to him. He had expected royal haughtiness and refusal, or perhaps tears and humiliation, but the princess had displayed quiet dignity, sinking to her knees with grace and looking him straight in the eye. He had not been lying when he told her that captives had cowed and begged at his feet, he'd had men twice her size piss themselves in fear in front of him, but not her.

Oh, she'd clearly been afraid, she may have been brave but she wasn't a fool. He'd watched the way her eyes had flicked over his ship, his crew, fearful of what indignities might be forced on her, undoubtedly aware that he could do anything he pleased with her.

Killian put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. He knew that his crew probably expected that he had taken his pleasure in her, he had seen the leers they gave her on the deck, and heard the crude jests they made when she was taken below by Smee.

_"She'll be on her knees again alright."_

_"Putting that fancy mouth to better uses."_

He felt himself grimace in annoyance. He didn't force women, they came to his bed happily enough on their own whenever they were in port, eyeing him in the taverns and whispering their offerings in his ear. Why would he resort to coercion when a smile and some charm got him what he wanted with ease? He liked women, liked them very well, and often, but he wasn't a lecherous dog unable to control himself around anything in a skirt.

Besides, the princess had made him a deal and kept her end of the bargain. He still admired good form after all this time, and he saw that she had it in spades. She had placed herself at his mercy, and it cost him nothing to earn her gratitude with honourable custody of her.

After all, why not? She'd given him the most interesting dinner conversation he'd had in ages, and she was going to make him so very, very rich.

The gems he had taken from her already were worth a fortune, sapphires as large as his thumbnails, ringed with diamonds, he could buy a whole fleet with the necklace and earrings. The haircomb, solid gold and heavy in his hand, yet somehow delicate and fine, the best work he had ever seen in the rendering of the two swans. It would be a pity to melt it down and destroy that fine craftsmanship. Perhaps he would keep it, although he really had no use for a woman's hair ornament.

Killian rolled figures around in his head, debating on how much of a ransom to demand. The sole heiress, a future Queen, obviously doted upon by her parents, he could picture the chests of coins, the pouches of gems they would pay without question to get her back. He could probably demand their whole treasury in exchange for her.

His mind drifted, thoughts of gold and sapphires replaced by the memory of golden hair and a blue silk dress sitting across from him at dinner. He recalled her slim body, white skin and green eyes, wine-stained lips and soft voice. Killian felt the faint stirrings in his groin, and his hand brushed across his stomach, under the loose pants he wore to sleep in. Not a lecherous dog, but he had just spent a pleasant evening with a beautiful woman. A very beautiful woman who dared to look him right in the eye and speak her mind, which was rare enough among men. Princess Emma had a bit of fire, and he could imagine what it would be like to spark that potential inferno in more than just conversation. He saw her pushed up against the wall of his cabin, heavy skirts bunched above her waist and her legs spread, while he knelt between her thighs and pressed his face into her most intimate place, tasting her dark honey. He took himself in hand, pumping his cock slowly as he thought of elegant fingers threading through his hair, pulling him close, soft moans escaping her as his tongue swirled over the sensitive little bud hidden in her centre, driving her mad with pleasure until she could no longer hold herself upright and came apart against his eager mouth.

Fully hard and straining, pants pulled down his hips and sheets thrown back, he grit his teeth and conjured up more images, the princess wrapping her legs around him as he carried her to his bed, laying her down and ridding her of the cumbersome dress, exposing every inch of her creamy skin to his gaze. He saw her legs falling open with wanton abandon, breasts heaving with desire. He stroked himself with a rougher grip, thumb sweeping over the tip and tightening his fingers around the shaft, hips beginning to move as he imagined sheathing himself into tight wet heat, her voice urging him on, begging him to take her, faster, harder, but he wouldn't give in. He would move with slow deliberation, hands on the curve of her hips as he sank in, letting her feel every inch of him claim her.

Pressed into his bed, soft breasts against his chest, she'd kiss him, feather-light touches against his mouth, his neck, his ear. Delicate hands braced on his shoulders, she would yield to him completely, her eyes falling shut as he'd plunge his tongue into her mouth and his cock into her body. Killian could almost feel her thighs squeezing him as he rocked his hips upward into his hand. His fist moved from base to tip and back again as he imagined the princess tightening around him, cries of pleasure torn from her throat and mixed with his own grunts and groans, and he finished with a muffled oath, spilling onto his stomach. He lay panting for breath, hand falling away and resting back down beside him as he came back to reality.

"Not a bloody chance in hell," he thought, grabbing a towel and cleaning himself up. Still, the fantasy was enjoyable. He would not attempt to bed her unwilling, but he was still a man and it had been a while since their last stay in port.

Killian fixed his clothes and turned over in bed, punching the pillow and trying to get comfortable. They would have a few days at sea before they'd have to dock and take on fresh supplies. Then they'd sail to her kingdom and he'd send the ransom demand to her parents. Once he had his treasure, he'd send her back home and sail off for new lands, the wealthiest pirate in all the seas.

He smiled. Fortune had certainly favoured him today. His beautiful ship now in possession of a beautiful princess, he closed his eyes and let the gentle rocking of the waves carry him off into sleep.


	3. Tales of the Sea

**Author: Thank you for all your awesome reviews, they make my day!**

**Chapter Three: Tales of the Sea**

Fergus carried a tray into the brig, shouldering the door open with a cheerful smile on his face.

"Good morning, Princess."

Emma smiled back, "Good morning."

He set the tray down on the chair outside her cell and unlocked the door, "I've brought you breakfast."

She wasn't very hungry, but she accepted the food anyway. Using the chair as a makeshift table, she sat on her cot and ate while Fergus plopped down on the floor, watching her.

"Have you eaten?" she asked between bites.

"Oh, yes ma'am. I ate at first light."

Emma eyed him. In her opinion he was far too thin, but she didn't know if it was due to skimpy feeding or the fact that he was a growing boy who was shooting up too fast for his stomach to keep pace. Still, she passed him her roll and he munched on it happily.

"Do they treat you all right here?" she asked, "The crew, and Captain Jones?"

He nodded, "Captain Jones is a fair captain. As long as you follow his orders, he don't put up with no back talk or laziness. He pays everyone their share of any treasure we take and doesn't cheat his crew, unlike some captains I've heard about. In every port there's a line of men wanting to sign on with him, but he's choosy. It's not easy to get a place on the Jolly."

Fergus talked with his mouth full, not possessing the same table manners as the captain. Emma passed him the rest of her breakfast and leaned forward, elbows on her knees and chin resting in her hands.

"And how did you get your place?"

He frowned, his eyes dropping to the floor, and Emma realized that a boy his age was not likely to be aboard a pirate ship for a good reason.

"I was working in a tavern on the docks. Captain Jones and some of the crew came in, I was supposed to clear the table, but I tripped and knocked over a pitcher of ale right into his lap. The tavern keeper saw what happened and came over, he cuffed me on the head and said he was going to throw me out. He went to hit me again, but the captain stopped him and asked if I wanted to be a pirate."

Emma asked, "What did your parents think of that?"

"My mum had been dead for almost a year. Never knew my father, he took off before I was even born."

"Oh, Fergus. I'm so sorry."

He looked up at her, his large eyes in his thin face making him look so young and fragile, "It's alright. Captain's teaching me to be a sailor and says I'll be a fine one. I'm hoping I can make first mate one day, but don't be telling Mr. Smee that, please."

"Of course not," Emma promised. The boy's devotion to Captain Jones made a lot more sense now.

He stood up, "I have to go finish my chores now. Do you need anything, Princess?"

"Would you ask the captain if I might come up on the deck for some air?" Emma requested, hoping he would see fit to grant her request. The brig was small and unpleasant and she wasn't used to being confined.

Fergus nodded, gathering the tray and utensils, "I will. Anything else you need, just ask. Captain Jones has said I'm to see to you while you're on board."

When he left, Emma stood up and paced, back and forth, back and forth, drawing her hand along the bars as she went. Fergus's sad story had torn at her heart, no child should lose their parents so young. At least he had managed to find a home, even if it had led him into a life of lawless piracy. She sighed. He seemed so sweet, but she supposed that would be slowly lost as he grew up among the hardened men who had taken her ship.

She wondered suddenly how Captain Jones had become who he was. He hadn't appeared out of thin air as the captain of a pirate ship, he had to have come from somewhere. Did he have a home once, a family? Was piracy a choice, or a necessity? Her own mother, the beloved queen, had been a thief when she had no other options. Emma had always thought the tale rather romantic, the story of a princess turned bandit, but was it, really? Her father had been dead, her life torn to shreds. It struck her, suddenly, how truly terrifying it must have been.

A startled laugh escaped her. She was a prisoner on a pirate ship, a hostage, and she was more worried about her mother and something that had happened over twenty years prior then she was about herself.

Emma pressed her hands to her chest. She was afraid, she could feel it, a weight sitting directly on her heart. But she couldn't afford to give in. If she did, it would drown her as sure as the ocean could. Maybe she worried about her mother and a boy she had only just met so she wouldn't dwell on her own predicament.

She sat down on her cot and closed her eyes. She saw her mother in the forest, gliding through on silent feet, finding allies in wolves and dwarves, and then a crowded tavern, and a pirate offering an orphan a kind word instead of a punishment. Had Captain Jones seen a bit of himself in Fergus? Had he once been a sweet faced boy with an open and honest smile?

...

...

"I am told you want to take some air?"

Emma stood up, folding her hands in front of her, "If the captain would be so kind as to allow me a brief sojourn above decks?"

Captain Jones unlocked her cell and held the door open, "As you wish, Highness."

The sun on her face felt wonderful, and Emma inhaled deeply as she stepped through the hatch and into the light and fresh air. A hush fell over the men on the deck, they all stopped their activities and stared at her.

"Back to your posts, lads," the captain ordered, and the heads dropped and the eyes slipped away from her.

Emma went over to the rail and looked down at the water, sparkling blue as far as the eye could see.

"I hope you're not planning to jump, Princess."

She felt his hand on her elbow, pulling her back slightly.

"Not today," Emma said, "No need."

She turned around and surveyed the Jolly Roger, "Your ship is beautiful."

His handsome features lit up with a smile, "All the more with such a beautiful ornament adorning her decks."

Captain Jones tucked her hand through his arm as if it was the most natural thing in the world and began walking them around the deck.

"Have you spent much time aboard ships?"

"No," Emma answered. She hadn't, the longest voyage she had undertaken had been her ill-fated flight from her kingdom.

He pointed out the various bits and pieces, explaining their functions.

"It's much more complicated then I would have thought."

"Aye. Sailing's not an easy endeavour. One can spend a lifetime at sea and still not learn all there is to know about it."

"Captain!"

They both turned at the sound of the voice. Smee was waving at them, calling out some question about the sails and rigging.

"Wait here," Captain Jones said, dropping her hand gently and striding across the deck to Smee. Emma sat down on a crate, shading her eyes against the sun and looking out over the water.

A shadow fell across her, "Enjoy your evening, Princess?"

Emma looked up. A crewman stood next to her, far too close for her taste. He smiled without warmth, and loomed over her, a leer on his face as his eyes stared into the neckline of her gown, "Did you scream?"

"Wilkinson!"

The captain's voice was sharp and cut through the air. The crewman blanched slightly, and the next thing Emma knew Captain Jones was standing in between them.

"I do not recall giving you leave to speak to my prisoner."

His voice went quiet but not soft, speaking with the same tone she had heard aboard her ship. The gentleman who had escorted her around deck was gone and the pirate who had backhanded Captain Stewart had taken his place.

"Apologizes, Captain," Wilkinson said, not sounding sorry at all, "I didn't know your permission was necessary."

The captain was right in Wilkinson's face, staring the man down, "My permission is required for anything you do aboard my ship, and do not forget that fact again."

His hand shot out to Emma's arm, pulling her to her feet and setting her firmly against his side. Captain Jones put his arm around her waist and turned them away from Wilkinson, calling out over his shoulder, "Dismissed."

Emma heard him shuffle away behind them as she glanced at Captain Jones out of the corner of her eye. His mouth was set in a thin line, muscle in his jaw jumping in obvious fury as he continued their walk.

He caught her looking at him and his face softened.

"I tolerate no disrespect to my guests," he said in a low voice, "None of the crew are allowed to bother you."

Emma noticed how she had gone from prisoner to guest again, "Thank you," she said.

They rounded the stern of the ship and the wind picked up, whipping loose strands of hair across Emma's face. She grabbed at them, huffing in annoyance. Without a brush she had done her best to smooth out any tangles with her fingers when she woke up that morning, but with no combs or pins to put her hair up with, she wished for something to keep it neat.

"I don't suppose you have any ribbons on board?" she asked, pushing the strands back.

"Not much use here for ribbons, I'm afraid."

He produced a long, thin black scarf, "Will this do?"

Emma quickly plaited her hair and took the scarf, tying it around the end in a neat bow. She flipped it back over her shoulder and sighed in satisfaction, "Much better."

Captain Jones frowned slightly. He raised his hand and ghosted along the side of her face, not quite touching her skin.

"I think I liked it better loose."

Emma dropped her eyes to the deck. The timbre of his voice had changed again, to something that sounded husky and strangely intimate.

"Captain!"

"Mr. Smee, honestly!"

Now he sounded annoyed, turning his head to his first mate's shout. Smee started pantomiming something, pointing at the sails again.

"I am afraid that duty calls, and you must go back to the brig now, Princess. Fergus!"

The boy came running and Captain Jones passed him the key to her cell, "Take Her Highness back down now."

Emma didn't quite trust her voice. She nodded at the Captain, and turned to follow Fergus.

"I will see you at dinner tonight," he called, and Emma looked back over her shoulder.

"Captain," she acknowledged, with a dip of her head, and then she went back down into the dim belly of the ship.

...

...

...

Killian stopped in the doorway of his cabin. The princess stood with her back to him, contemplating his bookshelf. Her hair was still done up in a long plait, tied with his scarf at the end. It sat right above her waist, the bow pressing against the same spot where he had placed his hand the night before to guide her through his ship.

She clearly hadn't heard his approach, he watched as her finger trailed down the line of books, obviously reading the titles while not quite touching the spines.

He cleared his throat and she jumped, turning around.

"See anything that interests you?" he asked, gesturing to the shelf. She looked back.

"Tales of the Sea, Mermaids and Monsters and the Lands Beyond the Horizon," she said, eyeing a fat tome bound in dark green leather, "Sounds intriguing."

"You may borrow it, if you wish. To read in your cell."

The book had been Liam's and it hadn't been moved from the shelf since his death. Killian would have said he'd never let anyone near it, but watching the Princess pick it up, turning it over and examining it closely, he almost felt the touch of his brother's hand on his shoulder in approval.

She set the book next to her place at the table as he held the chair back for her again.

"I trust everything is well above decks?" she asked, setting the napkin across her lap.

Killian poured the wine, "The mainsail will need some repairs soon, but that can wait for now. We need to resupply the provisions first at the next port."

Princess Emma looked up from her plate, "Is the extra mouth to feed running the stores dry?"

He felt his eyebrows raise, "Hardly," he chuckled, "I think it's Fergus, the lad grows more every fortnight."

She smiled, "He's a sweet boy," she said.

"He's sweet on you," Killian corrected, Fergus had talked about nothing but her all day, "He'll be heartbroken when you leave."

He didn't know why, but something inside him twisted at the thought of her departure.

"He told me how you took him in."

"Ruined a good pair of trousers, he did. But I needed a cabin boy, and thought he might want to see something of the world."

She tilted her head, studying him across the table as if he was a curiosity that had been laid at her feet. He frowned back.

"You're like nothing I would have expected," she said, and then looked startled, as if she hadn't meant to say it.

"The feeling, Highness, is entirely mutual."

He raised his glass and stretched his hand out towards her. She followed suit, clinking the tumblers together and then bringing hers to her lips.

They ate the meal, the princess asking him more questions about sailing which he was happy to answer. Until she inquired, "How does one come to be in possession of a pirate ship?"

He felt a shadow cross his face which she must have seen, she cringed slightly in her seat and fear flickered in her eyes.

"That is not a happy tale and one I do not care to share with you," he said, voice tight.

She looked down, hands going to her lap, "I mean no offence," she murmured, "Forgive my impertinence, Captain."

Killian tapped his fingers on the table. Liam's book sat next to her plate. He had an urge to snatch it away and order her from his cabin.

"Offence," he snorted, "I am sure the lives of those such as me are nothing more than a minor inconvenience in the royal courts."

"I hold no one's life to be an inconvenience."

"Really, Princess?" he leaned forward, glaring at her, "All those nameless, faceless peasants? Would you trade your fine dress and jewels for a life in homespun and hard work? Putting calluses on those white hands and falling prey to the whims of those who hold power?"

Her head lowered slightly, but it was in challenge, not submission.

"Well, maybe I would. After all, a nameless, faceless peasant would hardly be your prisoner now, would she, held prey to your whims. You say your life is a minor inconvenience, what is mine? You see me as a source of profit, a valuable ornament."

He was taken aback as she threw his own words back at him. Killian felt some of his anger leak away, she wasn't the one who sent Liam on the fool's errand that had ended in his death, and she was right.

"I'll forgive your impertinence if you'll forgive me my outburst, Princess."

She looked at him for a long moment. Killian had the strangest feeling that she could see right into his heart, to the scar his brother's death had left on it and it made him slightly uncomfortable. He stood up and went to the cabinet where he kept his liquor, pulling out a bottle of rum and two shot glasses. He set both on the table and poured a liberal dose into each.

"Drink up," he said, passing the princess one of the shots.

"What's this?" she asked, putting it up to her nose and taking a sniff.

"Rum."

He downed his glass, watching as she pulled hers away from her face slightly.

"I've never had rum before."

He half-expected her to refuse it, but as she had since the moment he'd laid eyes on her, the princess defied his expectations and tipped the drink into her mouth. Her eyes went wide and then slammed shut as she coughed and spluttered. Killian grinned, and she opened her eyes and peered into the glass as if it had personally affronted her.

"Good Gods," she said, "How do you drink it as easily as water?"

"Practice."

He poured himself another and quickly drank it. Lifting the bottle, he held it above her glass, brow raised in a silent question. She nodded, and he filled it up.

The faces she made as she sipped at the alcohol highly amused him. She caught his eye and frowned.

"You're mocking me."

"On the contrary, I am astounded by you, Highness."

Their argument forgotten, the princess returned his smile.

"I don't know if I'll ever acquire the taste for rum," she said, pushing the glass away. Killian picked it up and drank what was left, no sense in letting good rum go to waste.

"Well now, before you leave my ship, I'll make sure that you do."

Again the thought of her leaving made him pause.

He took another shot to make the feeling go away, savouring the familiar burn in his throat. Princess Emma leafed through the book, looking down at it. A strand of hair had worked it's way free of her braid and fell across her face, and he had an urge to take it and twirl it around his fingers.

When he heard her shocked intake of breath he realized that he had reached across the table and stroked along the length of the escaped curl.

Killian pulled his hand back. The cabin suddenly felt too small and too warm.

"Would you care for some more fresh air before retiring for the night?" he asked, standing up.

She nodded, not looking at him as she tucked the strand of hair back behind her ear.

The night was clear and crisp. They retraced their earlier trip around the deck, his hand on her back and the book clasped loosely in her hands.

"You navigate with the stars, don't you?" she asked, tipping her head back to look at them.

"Aye," he answered, feeling the air clear some of the rum from his head, "Once you know how to read them, you can always find you way."

"My mother can navigate the forest by the trees. She knows every single one, I think."

He blinked at her curious statement, wondering if the small amount of rum she'd had was enough to make her speak nonsense.

Killian led her back down below, to the confines of the brig. It hadn't been designed for comfort and he had a sudden thought.

"Do you need anything, Princess? Are you warm enough at night in here?"

She glanced at the small cot and the thin blanket.

"Fergus will bring you another blanket. And a lantern."

He didn't like the idea of her being alone in the dark.

Princess Emma smiled at him.

"Thank you, Captain."

She stepped into the cell like a lady entering her carriage and he closed the door behind her. Her dress rustled as she sat down on the cot and spread out her skirts, Liam's book on her lap.

Killian made his way to the galley, where Fergus sat with some of the other crew, playing dice while he stuffed hardtack into his mouth. He sent the boy to the hold to fetch the items for the princess, and went back up on deck.

The stars were brilliant. Killian leaned on the rail and looked up at them. Liam had taught him how to read the sky, in what felt like several lifetimes ago. He heaved a sigh, wondering what his brother would think if he could see him now. Nothing good, Killian knew. He probably wouldn't even recognize him. But then, he was alive and his brother was not, consigned to a watery grave.

He dropped his head and looked at the dark waves, feeling the familiar ache in his chest. His brother did not lie alone in the deep. A part of Killian had gone with him and would forever stay there, bedded down with his bones for eternity. He had given it willingly, certain that he would never need those pieces of himself again.

Honour.

Form.

Duty.

_Love._


	4. Ports of Call

**Chapter Four: Ports of Call**

Emma bent over her work, concentrating hard as she tried to remember all the steps. Her fingers had never felt so clumsy, but she finally got it right after a few failed attempts.

"There!" she said, holding out the piece of rope.

Fergus took it and examined the knot she had tied, giving it a few tugs.

"Good! Now, this one's a bit trickier."

He unpicked the knot and began demonstrating a new one, winding the rope around in his hands while she watched closely.

They were up on the deck, sitting in the sun together. The rest of the crew kept their distance, as they usually did from her. She'd spent most of the past few days on the deck, accompanied by either the captain or Fergus, passing the time in various ways. Conversations with Captain Jones, reading the book he had lent her, and now lessons in sailor's knots from Fergus.

She watched his nimble hands make quick work of a rather complicated looking knot, and took the practice rope back from him, running her finger over the various twists and turns. It looked impossible to replicate.

"Show me again?" Emma asked.

He obliged, nattering away as he did the tie again, slower this time. Captain Jones stood at the helm, hand on the wheel, but Emma could sense him watching them, aware of their interactions as he seemed to be aware of everything that went on under his command. Giving orders to his crew, keeping them in line, noticing when this man was sloppy in his work or that one was shirking his duties. He seemed to have eyes in the back of his head when it came to his ship, so Emma wasn't really surprised when he called out to her, "You're doing it backwards."

He came over and held out his hand. Emma passed him the rope and he held it up at eye level, "Now watch," he said.

"You are trying to do it like this."

He mimicked her attempts.

"But it goes like this."

He tied the rope into the knot.

"One more time?" Emma asked, leaning forward. She felt her tongue point out from between her teeth in concentration as she watched Captain Jones go through the steps, trying to commit them to memory. He untied the rope and handed it back to her.

She held it up the same way he had and slowly worked it into the knot, pulling on the ends to make it tight. She looked at him with a triumphant smile and he grinned back at her.

"Perfect!"

Emma had never expected that she would one day earn praise from a pirate captain. Or that she would even meet one at all, let alone spend so much time as the half-prisoner, half-guest of one. She was only locked in her cell in the brig during the nights now. Fergus came in every morning with her breakfast tray, and once she finished eating, would accompany her to wherever the captain was and leave to finish his morning chores. She now took her midday meal along with dinner with him, after which they'd take their nightly stroll along the deck before he escorted her to her cell.

The enchanted mirror was still hidden safely in her pocket, taken out and checked whenever she could. Her parents, alive and smiling, appeared every time, and Emma was feeling more and more certain that they had defeated the Evil Queen for good. Regina was no match for True Love, how could she be? Emma would be home soon and they'd have the happy ending they'd been fighting for. Just as soon as Captain Jones got his ransom, which her parents would gladly pay, he would let her go and she'd be with her family, where she belonged.

As Fergus talked, tying the rope into a knot that could be released with a single tug, Emma watched Captain Jones over his shoulder. He was back across the deck at the helm again, calling out to the crewman who scurried to fulfill his every shouted command. It was strange, but she almost felt like she would miss him when she left. Emma had never met anyone quite like him. Her first impression, that he was nothing but a heartless menace, dark and uncaring, was clearly not true. He ruled his crew with firmness but she had not seen him be deliberately cruel to them. He could intimidate a man with nothing more the a look, but then he could smile and appear to be a decade younger, free of any cares. He was holding her prisoner and yet he showed genuine concern for her care and comfort. He was a pirate whose reputation for cunning and deviousness had spread across the realm, if Fergus was to be believed, but he spoke to her like a gentleman.

She would almost think he was putting on an act, hiding his true nature behind a thin veneer of feigned civility, but the hints of sadness she glimpsed in his eyes, the memory of him claiming to be an inconvenience and that his acquisition of his ship was not a happy tale, there was more to his story then just a thirst for stolen treasure and the lure of the open sea, Emma was certain. The name written in the flyleaf of the book he had lent her, faded but still legible, Liam Jones, made her wonder.

"Land, ho!"

All heads turned at the shout. Captain Jones pulled out a spyglass and put it up to his eye, looking in the direction the man in the crow's nest was pointing. Emma watched him fold it back up in one motion, striding across the deck and taking her by the elbow.

"Come, Princess," he said, pulling her to the open hatch and down into the ship. Emma said nothing as she was led along the now-familiar route to the brig.

"We will be docking shortly and you must remain hidden. As soon as the ship is restocked, we will cast off and make haste for your kingdom."

Emma nodded, she knew he could hardly allow her to remain above deck while they sailed into port. She stepped into the cell and looked at him through the bars.

"I'll bring you back some ribbons for you hair."

She was still using the scarf he had given her, improvising new styles with it. She had even been tempted to wrap it around her forehead in the manner of the crewmen, but hadn't quite worked up the nerve yet. Emma lifted her hand to the sober bun at the nape of her neck and felt the material.

"Do you need your scarf back, Captain?"

He smiled, leaning his arm on the bars, "You can keep it, if you like, but I'll get you something pretty. After all, such fine gold as your curls deserves it."

Emma felt the slight blush rise in her cheeks that he must have noticed, he dropped his gaze and his smile grew wider.

"Would you like anything else?" he asked, with what sounded like a hint of shyness.

She bit her lip, considering. He looked back up at her and gave an encouraging nod.

"Some soap? Something a bit more soft? If it doesn't come too dear."

She bathed as best she could, sponging off with the water Fergus brought her, but the stinging lye soap they had on board was rough on her skin.

"I'll find some." he promised.

He looked the young gentlemen again as he winked at her and pulled her hand through the bars. Captain Jones kissed her hand softly, pressing his lips to her skin and lingering a touch longer than anyone at court would have dared to. Emma's heart sped up, and she lowered her lashes demurely.

When the captain had gone Emma collapsed on the cot. She went through her ritual with the mirror and stowed back away, then she leaned back against the wall and started picking at a loose thread on her skirt. A pirate had just offered to buy her hair ribbons. He had sounded more like a suitor, one of the men who presented themselves to her and offered her anything her heart desired. Of course, none of the knights, lords, dukes or princes had been holding her captive when they brought her gifts.

Her eye fell on the book, sitting at the end of her cot. She picked it up and ruffled through the pages, going past the etchings of mermaids, the descriptions of sea serpents, and found the section on pirates.

Emma began to read, _"They roam the Seas, searching for treasure, a Blight and a Curse upon the waves. Beholden to no King, sworn to a life of Thievery and deceit, these are the Tales of the most Terrible, the men who are said to have Lost their very souls in the Pursuit of ill-gotten Gains. The merciless, the Feared, the ones with no Honour, the ones that are called Pirates."_

_..._

_..._

_..._

"No one leaves the ship."

Killian looked hard at Keswick, the third in command behind him and Smee. They had finished docking, the Jolly lashed down securely, and he stood with one foot on the gangway, preparing to depart. Smee was already off, waiting for him.

They would find a supplier who could have the new provisions on the ship before nightfall, paying whatever it took for a speedy delivery. Killian fingered the purse of gold at his waist, the quartermaster's list under his arm. He wanted to get back on the water as soon as possible, and he had strictly forbidden any of the crew from leaving the ship. The last thing he needed was for someone to get drunk and start bragging in a tavern, letting slip the secret of their cargo. If word got out that he had a stolen princess on board, all hell would break loose.

The men had grumbled slightly, not liking the fact that they couldn't indulge in their usual port activities, drinking and whoring, but they had quieted under his searing glare and reminder of just how much they stood to gain from their share of the ransom.

Killian glanced over the men on the deck and saw the sour looks. A few looked particularly disgruntled, Parks, McIntrye, and Wilkinson. He stared at the last man, eyes narrowed. Wilkinson had been trouble since he'd come on board, he didn't take orders well and was blatantly insubordinate at times. Killian decided that as soon as they finished their business with the princess, he would cut the man loose and find a new crewman to replace him.

"Fergus!" Killian called, and the cabin boy came over to him. He bent his head and spoke quietly.

"I am putting you in charge of my guest. Bring her anything she needs, but she is not to come out of her cell while I am off the ship, aye? And no one but you is allowed into the brig."

"Yes, sir." Fergus nodded.

Killian clapped him on the shoulder and sent him back. He knew the lad would follow his orders and he was the only member of the crew he trusted around the princess in his absence.

"Come, Smee!" he barked, heading down the gangway and making towards the warehouses where he would purchase what he needed. His first mate scrambled to keep up, panting with the effort, but Killian didn't slow. He felt antsy being off his ship, something he always experienced whenever he was away from it, but the feeling was magnified tenfold in his current situation. He weaved his way around the sailors, the peddlers, the whores and pickpockets who swarmed the narrow walkways, brushing off their attempts to detain him as he moved with single-minded purpose. He had no time today for anything but his ship's needs and his own private errands.

From the merchants who supplied the ships in port he ordered barrels of salted meat, casks of fresh water and ale, wheels of cheese, bags of flour, containers of lard and jars of pickled vegetables. Killian made sure that he didn't appear too desperate because that would cause talk, paying extra for everything to be delivered immediately but still negotiating prices and not taking their first offers. His purse considerably lighter, he sent Smee back to the ship, ignoring the man's wheedling attempt to get him to duck into a tavern for a break. He ordered his first mate to wait at the Jolly for the deliveries to begin and left the familiar area by the docks, looking for the type of shops that sold the other things he needed.

At the apothecary he asked for their finest soap and was presented with a small cake that smelled of roses. He took a sniff and it was much more pleasing than the serviceable cheap stuff they had on board. He could well imagine it on the princess's wrist when he next kissed her hand. Satisfied, he gave it back to the pretty shopgirl to be wrapped up in a square of muslin. She fluttered her eyelashes at him and gave him a coy smile as she worked, and normally he'd lean on the counter and chuck his fingers under her chin, asking her if she fancied a visit to his ship, but instead Killian found himself sighing with impatience at her slow pace.

"I have other errands to attend to, lass," he said, pointedly, ignoring her disappointed pout and tossing her a coin.

He had to visit two other shops before he found ribbons for sale, not very familiar with the establishments that catered to customers of the feminine persuasion. Killian surveyed the rather bewildering array of options and picked out a bunch in green velvet, as close as they had to the shade of her eyes. On impulse, he added a small parasol. Princess Emma could use it to shield her face from the sun when she sat on deck.

Purchases tucked away, he started back towards the docks, hand on his sword. The sailors and assorted wharf riffraff eyed him again as he passed. They must have figured out who he was, the Jolly Roger never went unnoticed in port, and he knew he was easily recognizable. His height, his dashing good looks, he didn't disappear into a crowd, nor did he want to. What good was a reputation if he didn't live up to their expectations? He saw the looks of trepidation, awe, and flat out fear, and heard the whispers that followed in his wake.

Killian snorted, wondering what they would think if they knew he had just been attending to duties better suited to a lady's maid. The fearsome Captain Jones, ruthless pirate and all-around rapscallion, buying ribbons to match a girl's eyes. The princess was a bloody witch, there was no other explanation as to why he had the urge to seek out pretty things to make her smile.

But then, she had such a lovely smile. He liked seeing it on her face, bringing a touch of grace and beauty into his life for once. He was the captain, and his word was law aboard his ship, so if he wanted to indulge her requests for walks on the deck and scented soaps, he would, and none would dare say he couldn't. It certainly made life far more pleasant to have someone around who he didn't have to constantly keep in line with orders and threats the way he did his crew.

Killian had never expected it, but he had grown genuinely fond of the princess in the last few days. He found he was able to relax in her company in a way he hadn't with anyone else in years. He would miss that once she left his ship and was returned to her royal life. He didn't even want to think about how inconsolable Fergus would be, his cabin boy was wrapped firmly around her slender finger, completely besotted with her. He could understand why Fergus fancied her so much. Not only was she beautiful to look at, she was genuinely kind to the lad. Killian would have thought a princess would be condescending to the youngest and lowest-ranked member of his crew, hell, everyone was condescending to the youngest and lowest-ranked member of his crew, but he had watched her smile and laugh with Fergus, who was at her side every chance he could get. If flowers grew in the ocean, the boy would be picking her bouquets from the waves and throwing petals at her feet.

When he arrived back at the ship he saw it was a hive of activity, wagons piled high with the provisions already arriving and being unloaded as he went back on board. He barely had time to stow his gifts for Princess Emma away in his cabin before the quartermaster demanded his attention, one of the merchants had messed up his order. Killian knew he could easily send Fergus to deliver the items to her, but he wanted to do it personally. He did snatch a moment to ask the lad how she was faring, and was told that she'd mostly spent the time he was gone reading.

Satisfied that his treasure was safe and secure, he sat down with the quartermaster and the merchant's man and got the mess straightened out, with an extra cask of ale thrown in for his troubles. The last of the items finally stowed away, he gave the order to cast off and the men jumped to attention, untying the ropes and readying the ship to depart.

Killian guided the Jolly out of the harbour, as he'd done countless times before, back out on the open sea. He felt himself smile and his shoulders relax, tension draining out of him. The sun was hanging low in the sky, setting the water on fire with it's blazing orange trail. He turned and saw the port receding away behind them. In and out before nightfall, just as he'd planned.

He set their course and turned the helm over to Smee. He climbed down into his cabin with Fergus following obediently at his heels.

"Shall I fetch her for you, Captain?" the boy asked.

Killian shrugged off his coat and handed it to Fergus to be hung up, "No lad, I'll do it myself. Set up the table for our dinner."

When he pushed open the door to the brig the smile she gave him made his heart miss a beat. He had the sinking feeling that Fergus was perhaps not the only one who had fallen under her spell. Back in his cabin, he watched her eyes light up at his presents, stroking the ribbons with her fingers and setting the parasol on her shoulder, and he found he didn't much care.

Killian poured himself a glass of rum and smiled at his princess. He was in a generous mood and he summoned the quartermaster.

"Take the extra cask of ale and give each of the crew double their normal ration tonight," he said. The drink would ease the sting of missing out on fun in port. He knew how to manage his men.

"Aye Captain."

Princess Emma snapped the parasol shut again and sat down in her chair for dinner. Killian walked around the table to his seat, letting his fingers brush over the back of her chair as he went, almost touching her shoulder, her neck.

"To make them forget they couldn't get off the ship?" she asked.

He tossed the rum down his throat, "A simple distraction, but effective."

"Is that what the parasol and the ribbons are? A distraction?"

The princess nodded towards the items in question. Killian could think of many distractions he'd like to share with her and none of them involved girlish frippery.

"I suspect you are not so easily distracted as my crew, but you can't blame a man for trying."

She raised her eyebrow and he poured himself another drink, "A gift, Princess, merely a gift."

"Then thank you, Captain."

Killian smiled.


	5. Stacking the Deck

When the captain led her out onto the deck after dinner, Emma saw that the mood was a festive one. The crew gave a cheer at the sight of their leader, raising their tankards of extra ale to him.

"Captain Jones!"

He smiled, accepting the salute with a nod of his head and a raised hand.

The night air was warm and welcoming. The lanterns were lit, illuminating the deck. A bright spark on a dark sea, an island unto itself, ruled by the captain as surely as a kingdom was ruled by a king. It was clearly his world, and Emma was glad he was back. She had felt apprehensive the whole time Captain Jones was gone. After the time they had spent together, she no longer felt that he would harm her, but spending the day locked in her cell, reading lurid tales of pillage and ravishment, her imagination had started to run riot. When he had shown up, bearing the gifts he promised, no less, she had been relieved at the sight of him.

The crew were scattered in several small groups, talking and laughing as they drank their ale. The captain's distraction had clearly worked. Some were playing games, using crates and barrels as makeshift tables for dice and cards.

"Care to join us, Captain?"

Smee and three other men were setting up some type of card game. Captain Jones tossed a purse on the crate and called for two chairs to be brought over.

"Deal me in."

Emma sat behind him, watching him play. The game was not one she was familiar with, the players all made wagers as if they held the best cards, trying to intimidate each other into dropping out of the round. It ended either with one man left standing, taking the pot regardless of whether his cards had been highest or not, or the wager being pushed as high as it could go, the hands being revealed, and the player with the best cards won. Four of a suit beat three of a suit beat two of a suit, along with other combinations of kings and queens and jacks that she tried to keep straight in her head.

"Do you play cards?"

Emma looked up at Fergus, who had come over to watch as well. She frowned slightly at the cup of ale in the boy's hand, he was far too young for spirits, but she supposed as a member of the crew he was entitled to his rations just like the rest.

"Yes," she answered, "Card games are popular at court, but I've never seen this one before."

Captain Jones shuffled the deck with dexterity, the cards almost dancing in his hands, "There's room for one more. Care to try you luck, Princess?"

Emma spread her empty hands apart, "I'm afraid I have nothing to wager with."

He picked up some coins off the stack in front of him and dropped them into her palm.

"A stake, to get you started. However I must warn you, if you lose my money you will owe me a forfeit."

She looked at the copper and silver in her hand and then back up at the captain, "And if I win?"

"Then you may claim a prize off me. Which is highly unlikely, as I don't often lose."

Emma looked at the pile of coins in front of him. He had won most of the rounds. But if she managed to beat him, perhaps he might give her hair comb back. If she lost, she would owe him an unknown forfeit. She shrugged, after wagering her actual life in a battle of wits with him, the prospect didn't seem as daunting as it should have.

She lost four coins, still trying to keep up with the rules of the game. Then it came together and she won a round, and in addition to a small pile of coins she pulled towards her, she was rewarded with utter astonishment on the faces of the men. Fergus cheered, and Captain Jones shot him a black look.

"It's bad form to celebrate your captain losing."

He tossed another coin into the centre of the table and Emma matched it. The next round began, and she looked at the hand she was dealt. But the spades and clubs weren't the key to winning. The secret to the game was not in holding the best cards, but in making your opponents believe that you did. The men and the captain were all trying to deceive each other, shooting glances at each other and making sly comments, playing up what they had in their hands, but they couldn't fool her. She could hear the lies plain as day, and knew who genuinely had a good hand and who was faking. She had never employed her ability quite in this manner before, but it was certainly coming in handy, and they were all obviously baffled as to how she kept winning.

"Bloody hell!"

Wilkinson, the crewman who had incurred the captain's ire by speaking to her without permission, threw his cards down in disgust.

"She's cheating!"

The captain rolled his eyes, "Really? And how, pray tell, is she doing it? You think she has cards slipped up her sleeves? That's how you cheat, as I recall."

Wilkinson flushed, glaring at her. He was out of money and clearly not happy about it.

"The princess wouldn't cheat!" Fergus said, leaping to her defence.

"Shut up, boy," Wilkinson growled. He looked ready to leap across the crate, his hands were clenched into fists and a vein in his forehead bulged.

"That's enough!" Captain Jones spoke with authority, leaning forward in his chair, "No one likes a sore loser. She bested you, now bugger off and lick your wounds in silence."

It was clearly an order, not a suggestion, and Wilkinson stood up, teeth clenched as he grabbed his empty purse and stalked away.

The other crewman quickly followed Wilkinson out of the game. The last hand came down to Emma and the captain. She had good cards but not great, and she held the hand up close to her face, looking at him over the tops of the cards.

"You can concede now, you know," he said, "Take your winnings and not risk losing it all."

"Risk versus reward," Emma replied, eyeing her cards, "The eternal dilemma."

He snorted, "True enough. But there are few willing to risk owing a forfeit to a pirate."

"That means the right to claim a prize off one is all the more valuable, for it must be rare." Emma pointed out, lowering her cards slightly so that he could see her smile.

Captain Jones sprawled back in his chair, an eyebrow raised, "Are you certain, Princess? How strong is your faith in the cards you hold?"

Emma looked back down at them and then at the ones he had fanned out in his hand, "I am quite certain, Captain, that you are the one who truly holds all the cards here."

He smiled, tossing another coin on the pile, "The moment of truth then. Fold, or show your hand."

Emma couldn't tell if he had good cards or not, unable to read anything into his careful words. For a moment she was tempted to lay her cards face down and withdraw. She had noticed that everyone else did when it came down to challenging the captain one on one. He didn't back down, even when his cards were worthless.

She laid her cards on the table, face up, four diamonds in a row.

"Diamonds for the Princess. How appropriate."

Captain Jones flicked his cards on the table.

Three hearts.

Emma had won. Several crewman had been watching, gathered around the crate, and she heard the shocked murmurs as they leaned over to look at the cards. She didn't know whether they were more surprised by her win or by the captain's loss.

Smee whistled, "Hell of a game, Captain."

Emma picked up some of the coins and held them out, "Your stake, paid back in full."

The coins clattered into his hand. He shook his head slowly and put them back into his purse, mouth opening and closing as if he was debating on what to say. Finally he looked up at his men and shrugged.

"Moral of the story, lads, never gamble with women. Ruthless creatures, the lot of them."

In his cabin, he drank a glass of rum while Emma gathered her coins up in the cloth her new ribbons had come wrapped in. She used one of them to tie the bundle shut.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you did cheat, which is usually a pirate's tactic."

"What's wrong, Captain? Are you a sore loser as well?"

He set the glass on his desk, "I can be, at times. Few men enjoy losing. A pirate likes it even less."

"Most women aren't thrilled with it either." Emma said. She weighed the improvised purse in her hand, "Does that mean you're going to take my winnings?"

"I could."

Emma nodded, of course he could. He could do whatever he wanted. Captain Jones held all the cards, even though the game was over.

He was leaning against his desk, one foot crossed over the other. Dressed all in black again, the way he had been the day he took her ship.

"Or will you not grant me the prize you promised?" she asked.

The captain sipped his glass of rum, blue eyes gazing at her over the rim.

"No, you may have your prize. Whatever you like, except for your freedom, of course."

"Of course," Emma echoed. She wondered if he truly meant it. Gifting her with trinkets like the ribbons was one thing, but the hair comb was a valuable piece and he was a pirate.

He looked at his glass, swishing the amber liquid around in it as he spoke, "It's a pity though. While I don't begrudge you your astonishing win, I was rather looking forward to my forfeit."

"What would I have owed you if I lost?"

Captain Jones pushed off the desk and came towards her. Emma backed up, her legs hitting the side of a chair and preventing her from going any farther. He didn't stop moving, his lean form taking up far more of the room then it should have. The ship rocked, but he walked a straight line right to her, unaffected by the movement. She tilted her head back, looking up at him while something strange and warm ran through her. He was so close that his knee brushed a fold of her skirt and Emma's hand shot out, planting against his chest. She landed on leather instead of skin, but she could feel the heat rolling off of him, waves of it lapping against her like he was the ocean and she was the shore.

He smiled, a corner of his mouth lifting, and his tongue ran across his newly exposed teeth.

Emma felt her eyes widen. Her other hand twitched slightly with the urge to slap him, if she had been in her castle and he had been an overeager suitor she would have, but she wasn't and he wasn't. She couldn't let herself forget who he really was. Captain Killian Jones, of the Jolly Roger. Benevolent though he might be, she was still his captive.

He leaned forward, pressing against her hand on his chest, forcing her elbow to bend and allow him closer. Emma exhaled sharply as his head came down, close, so close that his nose actually touched hers and she could feel his breath on her face.

"A kiss."

She leaned back, trying to put some space between them and get a breath of air into her suddenly empty lungs, "What?"

"My forfeit. You would have owed me a kiss."

His eyes drifted down to her lips and then back up again.

"So very disappointing. But I'm curious, are you a woman of your word, Princess? You agreed to pay if you lost. Would you have given me a kiss?"

Emma felt as if she was balanced on a very thin ledge. She could smell rum on his breath, and the leather of his clothes, and something else, something that was so male and terrifying. She summoned every ounce of royal dignity she could muster and was pleased when her voice came out sounding cool and detached.

"I agreed to your terms, did I not?"

The captain touched a thumb to the edge of his lips, drawing her attention to them. Which was probably his intention, she realized, as he leaned in again. Her hand was still pressed against him, the solid weight of his body hovering mere inches from her.

"So that's a yes then. If I had won that last round, you'd be kissing me. Right now. Princess."

His voice was low and silky, speaking her title like a caress. She wondered what it would be like to hear him say her actual name, something few people did, but even as he stood so close that she could count his eyelashes, he hadn't crossed that line.

Emma pushed, and he moved back, but she knew he only went because he chose to.

"You lost the last round. Captain."

"Did I?" he tilted his head, as if trying to remember, "A pirate does not lose, a pirate merely changes the rules of the game."

"In other words, he cheats," Emma said.

"He ensures his victory. Which I should have done by stacking the deck, but I foolishly thought it wasn't necessary. Remind me to stop underestimating you, Princess."

Captain Jones went back to his desk and poured himself more rum.

"Should you chose a kiss as your prize I will pay it gladly."

He said it lightly, perching against his desk again. Emma looked away, resisting the urge to respond to the outrageous idea that she would ask him for a kiss.

"I would like to retire for the night." Her voice remained neutral, even as her heart threatened to escape from her chest and flee from the room. She wondered if he could hear it, the mad beat hidden under the silk of her bodice. He seemed to notice everything else on his ship, why not that?

She heard the clink as he set down his drink and he heaved a sigh.

"Very well."

Emma kept her eyes averted as he escorted her back to the brig, but she could feel him watching her. She finally glanced at him when he locked the cell, her jailer once more. He pocketed the key and rubbed his lips, pulling her gaze to them again.

"Yes, very disappointing to lose."

His hand brushed hers where she was holding onto the bars and she tightened her hand instinctively, knuckles going white.

"I shall have to try my luck another time then. Perhaps the odds will be in my favour."

When he was gone she forced her hand to open, releasing the death grip she had on the bar. Playing games with a pirate was dangerous. The book had warned her, that they lied and cheated to win. And if he had won, she would have owed him a kiss.

She couldn't stop thinking about it. He'd kissed her hand, she already knew that his lips were soft and his beard scratched. She'd felt the warmth of his mouth, his breath on her skin. He'd been so close to her in his cabin, just the slightest downward movement of his head and he would have had his kiss.

But he didn't kiss her.

Because he didn't win?

Emma lay down on her cot, staring up at the ceiling. She didn't understand him in the slightest. He boasted openly of cheating, so why would it matter to him that she had won?

She closed her eyes. Would she have done it? If Captain Jones had won, and demanded a kiss, would she have given it to him? She'd kissed men before, allowing a few of her suitors that liberty when they'd asked, but none had attempted to trick her into it. She'd walked right into the trap as well, agreeing to his terms without even knowing what he wanted. Well, she wouldn't make that mistake again.

Let Captain Jones stack the deck. She'd still know when he was bluffing.

Emma wondered suddenly if her gift could be considered cheating. If they had known she could tell when they were lying, they never would have let her play. She felt herself smirk, thinking of the coins she had taken and the surprise on their faces, his most of all.

She really did have cards slipped up her sleeves. A pirate's tactic, he'd said. Well, she was on a pirate ship. What better place to use their tactics then that?


	6. Course Corrections

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**Chapter Six - Course Corrections**

_"Liam."_

_He wasn't breathing._

_"Liam!"_

_His heart wasn't beating._

_"LIAM!"_

_His eyes were empty, clear glass that no longer reflected the blue of the ocean, the life had drained away. His brother, so vibrantly alive mere moments ago, was dead, and Killian didn't know how his own heart was still working. Shouldn't he have ceased to draw breath when Liam did, shouldn't his chest be silent and still as well?_

_He was supposed to follow his brother, wherever he went. So how could he be alive while Liam was dead?_

_Water was seeping up through the floorboards, soaking the planks and turning the wood black. It rose above his legs, still sprawled on either side of Liam's body, and oh Gods, Liam was now a body, and Liam was rising with it, pulled out of Killian's arms and floating away._

_"Liam!"_

_He tried to stand, tried to follow his brother, but the water weighed him down, and he couldn't move, he could only scream as the waves washed over Liam's face and he began to sink, down, down, down, to the place where Killian couldn't follow._

He woke up sweating and shaking. Killian flung the blankets back violently and sat up, legs swinging over the edge of the bed. He dropped his head into his hands, feeling bile rise up in his throat. When he was sure it wouldn't spill over, he stood up and made straight for the rum. He drank right from the bottle, throat burning with each swallow, but he didn't stop.

The dreams came and went. Killian could go months without one, but he could never escape them entirely. In the immediate aftermath of Liam's death he'd had them every night, and he'd flung himself headlong into anything that could possibly make him forget. He raided ships and set fire to ports, he drank until he passed out and he sought solace between the thighs of any willing woman.

Nothing worked.

Eventually they had started to fade, one night, and then two, would pass without closing his eyes and seeing Liam's lifeless face. A week would go by, a month, but no matter how many ships he took or how much he drank or how many women he bedded, they always came back. He was cursed, he had to be, cursed to relive his brother's last terrible moments over and over again until the day he died and finally, finally followed him to what lay beyond this life.

Killian sat in the dark, rum clutched in his hands, until the sun rose and the morning light streamed through his windows, unwilling to go back to sleep and risk the nightmare taking him again.

...

...

He stood and surveyed his ship, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. The crew, well accustomed to his black moods, all gave him a wide berth. None of them were willing to risk his wrath, and they kept their eyes averted as they hunched over their tasks.

The Jolly Roger bobbed softly on the waves, sails raised and filled with the wind, carrying them towards her kingdom.

Killian looked down at the lower deck. Princess Emma was staring out at the water, the parasol he had bought her sitting on her shoulder. Her hair was tied back loosely with a green ribbon, another of his gifts. She stood in profile to him, and his eyes traced the lines of her face, the slope of her nose and the bow of her lips, the long white neck and the soft swell of her breasts. The wind pressed her skirts against her legs, and he could see the faint outline of thigh and knee and shin, down to where the tips of her boots peeked out from the hem.

He blinked, looking away.

Liam's voice drifted through his mind, _"Something turning your head, little brother? Or someone?"_

"Captain?"

Killian frowned. He had been staring at the deck, eyes hazy and unfocused, and hadn't even noticed her approach.

The princess had come up to where he stood by the helm, daring to tread where not a single one of his men had all morning. She had been reserved with him since his almost-kiss, not smiling or meeting his eye as much as she had, and keeping more distance between them, but when Killian looked up at her she laid her hand on his arm and stepped close, concern written all over her face.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

A sharp retort sprang to his tongue, the desire to lash out and make others hurt as he did surging through him. In the past he had broken bones when approached at the wrong moment, inflicting pain in a futile attempt to make his go away. He saw her go white, clearly seeing the rage in his eyes, but she didn't back down. Instead, the hand on his arm tightened.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

He drew her back, away from the crewmen looking up at them warily. He turned so that his back was to his men and tried to force a smile for her.

"I'm fine."

Her eyes narrowed, the parasol tilting back over her head as she moved even closer, close enough for him to smell the rose soap on her skin.

"No, you're not. You're lying."

Killian grimaced, "I'm a pirate, Highness. It's what I do."

The princess merely looked at him and he sighed, reaching up and scratching the back of his neck. He wanted to send her away so he could mourn alone and he wanted her to stay so he wouldn't have to. He wanted to lie and pretend that he was fine and he wanted to be honest and admit that he was anything but.

Above everything else, he wanted to know how in the hell this woman managed to possess more courage than the whole of his crew put together? Not one of them would have dared to confront him the way she did, would have stared right into the heart of his anger without flinching away.

He looked down into green eyes that had seen far too much of him already and of all things, honesty won out, "I was remembering someone I lost. A long time ago."

She dropped her gaze, her brows knitted together, nose wrinkled in thought, and then she said the last thing he expected, "Liam?"

His mouth dropped open in shock. Killian felt blind panic, was she actually reading his mind? First she had seen through every single one of his bluffs during their card game and now this.

"His name was written in the book I borrowed from you," she explained, "Liam Jones. Your father?"

"Brother," he corrected, feeling a great wash of relief that she couldn't actually hear what he was thinking, "Liam was my brother."

There were so few of the original crew left, some had drifted away over the years, some, like Liam, had died. Killian knew it was only a matter of time before he was the only one who remembered his brother, who remembered that he was a good man, a fine captain who held everyone around him to the highest standards, but no one more than himself. He had fallen so far away from those ideals, had rejected everything Liam stood for, everything that had killed him in the end. What good was being honourable when the world wasn't?

"I'm sorry."

Her voice was full of sincerity, the kind he rarely heard anymore in the type of company he normally kept. He stared at the princess, this girl he had stolen away. By all rights she should hate him, but she looked at him with sympathy and somehow shared his grief. She would have never heard the name Liam Jones, and he was suddenly grateful that she knew it now, that there was someone else who would remember that his brother had existed, and that Killian had loved him.

He put his hand over hers on his arm and squeezed it.

"Thank you," he said.

"What was he like?" Princess Emma asked, "If you don't mind talking about him?"

He did and he didn't. He hadn't, in so very long and the words felt strange in his mouth, "He was...a stubborn arse. Always lording his status as older brother over me, never letting me forget that I was the little brother."

She smiled, "Sounds like every pair of brothers I've ever met."

Killian closed his eyes, the memories spilling out faster now, "He was a sailor, more at home on the water than on land. He was my captain, and I would have gone with him to the ends of the earth."

He felt the princess's hand turn so she was no longer grasping his arm, she was holding his hand. He opened his eyes, "But like I said, it was a long time ago."

"Well," she said, "I shall take very good care of his book then. You will have it back in exactly the same condition."

He smiled, a genuine one, and brought her hand to his lips.

"I know you will," he said, and placed a soft kiss on her fingers. She didn't pull away from him. Killian put her hand back on his arm and turned, walking with her along the deck. Her parasol shaded them both and he remembered that he owed her another gift.

"You still have not claimed your prize."

She looked down and spoke with hesitation, "I am not sure you will give it to me."

He stopped abruptly and faced her again, "I will give you anything you ask me for."

Princess Emma looked up at him, "Why?" she asked softly.

He wished he knew the answer to that. Liam would've known, if only he was here to tell him what to do. Trying to cover up his confusion, Killian made his voice light and teasing, "Questioning the captain? Why, if you were a member of my crew I'd throw you in the brig for insubordination."

"I'm already well acquainted with the brig. And I'm not a member of your crew."

"Ah, Princess, you could be. Let's see, what position could you fill? Shall I turn Fergus out and appoint you cabin boy? Not that anyone would possibly mistake you for a boy, of course. Lookout? Bosun? Cook? Are you a fair hand with spices? Smee is surprisingly particular about his food, although you wouldn't know it to look at him. Hmm, on that note, first mate?"

She was laughing, the parasol twirling in her hand as he went through the list.

"I know," he said, leading her to the bow of the ship, "You can be the figurehead."

The princess looked out over the prow, the wind nearly stealing her parasol. She shrieked, closing it and clutching it tight.

"What, the useless decoration?" she asked, pushing her hair over her shoulder and shading her eyes with her hand.

"A figurehead is far from useless decoration," he said, standing behind her. Killian leaned forward and spoke into her ear, "It is a charm against the dangers of the sea, protecting the ship and the sailors. And an announcement, telling all and sundry the name and lineage of the vessel. Of course, I shall have to rechristen the Jolly Roger to something more suitable. The Golden Princess, perhaps?"

The ship hit a swell, the bow rose with it and the princess stumbled, pitching sideways and then back. She landed against his chest, her head hitting his shoulder. Killian braced his feet and wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her from falling.

"I've got you."

"I don't think the ship approves of your proposed name change," she said, her voice sounding high and breathless. She lifted her head from his shoulder but the grip he had on her waist kept her body pressed against his. Killian loosened his hold, but she didn't pull away immediately, and he could feel the silk of her dress and her soft hair brushing his neck.

When she did move he fought the urge to pull her back against him.

A hesitant voice piped up behind him, "Captain?"

"Impeccable timing as always, Mr. Smee."

He said it mildly, turning to his first mate. Smee cringed back, but when Killian merely raised an eyebrow at him he blinked owlishly in confusion.

"Uh, a word, Captain?"

Killian gestured with his hand, indicating Smee to continue, but he looked at the princess, shuffling his feet slightly and tucking his chin down into his chest.

"In private?"

Princess Emma opened her parasol, setting it on her shoulder, "Captain," she said with a nod of her head and walked away. Killian watched her leave.

"Spit it out, Smee," he said when she was out of earshot.

It took the man a few moments to start talking as he clearly gathered his nerve, and then the words came out in a rush, "It's about our course, sir. We would save considerable time if we sailed through the Serpentine Straits instead of going all the way around the islands."

"I am aware of that, however the straits are the busiest shipping lanes in this entire sea. Four different kingdoms claim parts of them, and we hardly have papers granting us passage."

"That's never stopped us before," Smee protested.

Killian felt a flash of annoyance, "We've never had such _valuable_ and _delicate_ cargo before. I have decided our course specifically to avoid any naval vessel that might be searching for her."

His first mate glanced over at the princess, who was watching Fergus work while the boy chatted away at her.

"Captain, is it wise to allow her so much freedom? What if she escapes?"

He barked an incredulous laugh, looking at the endless expanse of ocean surrounding them, "Do you think she's secretly a mermaid, then?"

"She could be in league with one," Smee was being far too stubborn for his own good and Killian felt his patience run out. His voice went low and cold.

"I will handle my prisoner as I see fit, is that quite clear?"

He pointed a finger at Smee, leaning close and glaring down at him, "Now, are you done second guessing your captain, or are there any other concerns you wish to share?"

Smee started backing up, shaking his head, "No Captain."

"Then go back to your post."

His first mate all but ran off, and Killian felt the tension return, laying across his shoulders like a yoke. He breathed heavily through his nose, his hand clenching at his side.

A flash of movement caught his eye. Killian looked up and saw that it was the princess's parasol, doing a lazy spin on her shoulder. Her eyes met his for a split second, and then the parasol dipped, covering her face. He frowned, staring at the circle of lace-trimmed fabric blocking his view.

She reappeared, swinging the handle to rest on her other arm and laying a hand on his cabin boy's shoulder. Fergus went crimson and Killian felt his lips twitch in amusement. The princess said something, but he was too far away to hear.

The sunshade moved again as she turned, disappearing behind it's cover once more. He followed it with his eyes, mesmerized by the gentle sway.

When she peeked out again he realized she was doing it deliberately. Killian went over to her and reached out as if to take the parasol. Princess Emma drew it back.

"This was a gift," she said with mock sternness.

"Aye. To shade you from the sun, Princess, not from me."

She twirled it in her hand again.

"Well you should have thought of that before you gave it to me."

Her audacity was astounding, to challenge him like that on his own ship, but Killian only laughed. She snapped it shut neatly and tapped him square in the middle of his chest with the handle.

"You should smile more often, Captain. It suits you."

The princess strolled away, "Come along Fergus and escort me to my cell. I am in need of some rest."

Fergus went to follow her and Killian cleared his throat loudly. The boy jumped and looked at him guiltily.

"Uh, with your leave, Captain?"

"Oh, go on," he said. His cabin boy's allegiance was clearly hers now. If he wasn't careful, she'd take over his whole bloody ship.

From the look she gave him over her shoulder as Fergus ran to join her, she obviously knew it. She didn't need to be in league with mermaids, she did just fine on her own.

Killian resumed his place by the helm and folded his arms again. He tried to glare at the crew, but his heart wasn't in it anymore.

He rather wanted to smile, instead.

...

...

_"Liam."_

_The sun streamed in through the windows of the captain's quarters, illuminating the dust in the air. His brother was bent over the table, staring at a map._

_"Ah, brother, there you are."_

_His head came up, and he frowned at Killian's attire, "Out of uniform, Lieutenant? Quite bad form. I'll have you swabbing the deck for a week for this infraction."_

_Killian looked down at his leather vest and trousers, wondering where his naval whites had gone._

_"Come," Liam waved him over, a smile on his face, "Shall we plot our next course?"_

_His hands swept over the map, tracing the familiar shores, past the far flung islands, until his finger went over the edge._

_"Into the unknown?" Killian asked, feeling apprehension kindle low in his belly._

_"Where else," Liam winked, rolling up the map, "Will you follow me, brother?"_

_"I can't"_

_He looked into Liam's confused face._

_"Where you went, I couldn't follow."_

_His brother tapped his fingers on the table, "I know. You've not followed me for some time, have you?"_

_Killian's hands brushed his leather covered thighs, he looked down at boots no longer kept polished to a high shine._

_"Still," Liam continued, "You carried on. Found glory for king and country?"_

_"It's a lie," Killian spat, 'The king, the glory. There was no glory in your death, the king never mourned you. Only I did."_

_He was breathing heavily, staring at his brother. Liam looked back._

_"What course do you sail now, Killian? You were always meant to find your own path, but is this the life you truly want?"_

_Liam stepped forward until they stood toe to toe. His hand went to the hilt of his sword._

_"Pirate."_

_The contempt in his brother's voice was too much to bear. Killian shoved him back._

_"You weren't there! I would have done anything for you, but you weren't there!"_

_Liam picked his hat up off the table and set it on his head. He buttoned his jacket, smoothing out the creases, and slipped on his gloves. His uniform complete, he went to the ladder and started to climb up._

_"Wait!" Killian called. He wanted to stop him, but his feet wouldn't move and when he reached out he could only grasp empty air, "Liam, where are you going?"_

_He paused on the ladder and looked back, "To the unknown."_

_"Let me go with you! Brother, please!"_

_But Liam shook his head, "You know you can't. You follow me no longer, remember?"_

_"What do I do? Where do I go?" he asked, voice a frantic plea._

_"Do as you always do, Killian. Follow your heart, dear brother, and go where it takes you."_

_Liam disappeared through the hatch and it slammed shut after him. Killian could move again and he climbed up the ladder after his brother, but the door wouldn't budge. He pounded his fists against it._

_"Liam!"_

He woke with a start, eyes flying open and hands slamming against the bed. Killian was on his back, and he stared up at the ceiling above him. The whitewashed wood was the same as in his dream, his cabin had once been Liam's after all.

The blankets were tangled around his legs and he kicked them aside impatiently, flinging an arm up over his eyes.

He had dreamed of his brother, but it wasn't his usual nightmare. Killian tried to hold on to it, but it was pouring through his mind like sand through his fingers. They had been in the cabin, Liam had been pointing at a map, and then what? He chased the dream, rolling onto his side and pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. Liam had told him something. He wanted to remember what it was, wanted to remember his brother's words, even if they hadn't been real, even if it was only a dream.

But it was already gone.


	7. The Eye of the Storm

**Hey, I'm on Tumblr now. Link's in my profile.**

**Chapter Seven: The Eye of the Storm**

Emma was cold.

She stood on the deck of the Jolly Roger, staring out at the swells of green water, arms wrapped tight around her. The ship rose and fell with the movement of the waves, and she felt slightly ill. She had been beset with seasickness on the first few days of her voyage from home, spending miserable hours in her cabin, basin at the ready. Once she got used to the constant rocking under her feet she had been fine, but the feeling had returned. It was a roil and pitch deep down in her stomach that made her long for dry land.

The air was no longer warm, the sea was no longer blue. Emma had no need of her parasol, there was no sun. The sky was overcast, grey and cold and she could somehow feel the dampness right down into her bones. The salt in the air stung her eyes and settled in her throat, and she could think of nothing but home, the imposing stone castle far from the sea. Warming herself in front of a fire kindled in the hearth, sinking down into the feather mattress of her own bed, and the feel of her mother's kiss on her forehead. No evil queen lying in wait behind every shadow, plotting her revenge.

No pirates with gold in their eyes when they watched her. One of them was looking at her now. Emma didn't know his name, but he was on the shorter side, with brown hair and a drooping moustache that gave him a rather mournful air. She ignored the stare but she was aware of it, his furtive glances and longer speculative looks when he wasn't bent over his task. She'd been watched her whole life, by servants and courtiers, guards and aristocrats, ambassadors and peasants. Everyone had a different agenda when it came to her, and she had learned from a young age that most saw her as what she was, the Crown Princess, a title she did nothing to earn, rather than who she was. After a lifetime of being appraised by almost everyone in some way Emma was well-versed in the art of appearing indifferent when she was anything but.

The crewman slunk away eventually. She rubbed her hands on her arms and strained for a glimpse of shore. It felt like years had passed instead of weeks since she'd stood on solid ground.

"You should go down below."

"Is that an order, Captain?" Emma asked without turning around. She didn't want to sit in the brig, that tiny, narrow room, and think of her spacious bedchamber and private apartments. She didn't want to look into the enchanted mirror and see an image of her parents instead of the real thing.

"It's going to rain."

Emma looked up at the sky. It had grown darker, despite the early hour, and she sighed.

"Does that matter?" her voice was cross and petulant. So what if it rained? She was already miserable, being wet couldn't make it any worse.

"I will make it an order if I have to, Your Highness."

Her shoulders hunched forward in annoyance. Emma wanted to remind him that she was the heiress to her mother's kingdom and she did not take orders, she wanted to slap his face for daring to stand so close to her, close enough to feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. Most of all, she wanted to be off his ship and back home, where there were no blue-eyed, black-haired pirate captains who smiled at her like she was more than just a golden prize.

Captain Jones's hand touched her elbow and Emma moved away. She needed to stop allowing him so many liberties with her person, she needed to stop pretending that he was paying court to her instead of holding her hostage, she needed to go home and forget about him.

"Princess?" he asked, sounding confused.

Emma ignored him, but she was aware of him behind her. She was cold, and he would be warm to the touch, if she turned and took his hand. She wanted to be warm, she wanted to be safe, but she could be none of those things as long as she was on his ship.

His voice dropped, "Have I done something to offend you?"

Captain Jones had threatened to sell her people into slavery, had locked her in a cell, had cornered her in his cabin and all but demanded she kiss him. What hadn't he done to offend her, and why had she even bothered worrying about him, when she had seen the grief for his brother etched on his face? Why had she tried so hard to make him smile? Why had she been happy when he did?

Emma felt his hand again, taking her by the arm and turning her to face him. She stared at the charms on his necklace instead of meeting his eyes.

"Look at me."

She kept her gaze lowered, and she heard him sigh, his fingers going under her chin and tilting her head up. He looked so concerned, and she wanted to push him away and tell him to leave her alone. Her hands came up and rested lightly on his chest, ready to give him a shove, but she couldn't make them move. Emma saw a flash of surprise in his eyes, his head lowering as he looked down at her touching him.

Her hands were shaking, and she blinked at them, confused, before her whole body started to shiver and her teeth started to chatter. The temperature had dropped even more and the sky was nearly black.

"Now, it's an order. You're freezing, you need to get inside."

"I don't want to go back to the brig," Emma said, wrapping her arms around herself again in a vain attempt to ward off the chill.

"Captain!" a voice called, and his head whipped around.

"Start tying everything down!" he yelled back, before his arm came over her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Despite the wind and the imminent rain, he was warm and she wanted to lean into him even more.

"You don't have to go to the brig. My quarters are at your disposal, Princess."

A loud clap of thunder split the air, and Emma flinched. The captain's mouth was set in a thin line as he moved over to the hatch that led directly into his cabin. He lifted the cover and she started to climb down.

"Do not come back up," he said, the order clear, and Emma looked up into his face for a brief moment before he shut her in. She could hear his muffled shout, calling to the crewmen on deck.

"Get the sail down _now_!"

When the rain started it was clearly not a gentle downpour. The sound was deafening, so much so that she actually had to cover her ears at the sudden unexpected noise. Emma went to the window and watched it lash against the glass, the ocean beyond no longer visible. Her stomach was in knots and she grabbed at the back of a chair, holding herself up and praying desperately that she wouldn't be sick all over the floor.

The door opened and Emma looked up. Fergus stood, mouth open and face white.

"Captain told me to stay below," he said, his voice high and terrified. She thought of how young he was, still a child in so many ways, and she tried to push some of her own fear down. Emma opened her arms and he ran into them, clutching her around the waist and burying his face in her shoulder.

"I don't like storms," he mumbled, and she rubbed his back in soothing circles. .

"It will be over soon," Emma lied. She had no idea how long storms at sea lasted.

The windows rattled so hard that she expected them to shatter right in the frames. The ship began to buck and heave and they fell to the floor, amid a shower of books and maps and everything in the cabin that wasn't secured down.

Fergus was shaking and Emma held him tight, feeling the sharp lines of his bony shoulders through his shirt. They huddled together on the floor and she felt sheer terror rise in her throat. She was no sailor, but this could not be a typical storm. This was the vengeance of an angry sea-god, and Captain Jones was still on the deck, right in the middle of it.

What if he got injured? What if he got swept off the ship? Emma closed her eyes, the terrible images flashing behind her lids. A bleeding and broken body, a dark head slipping beneath the waves. She thought of the whole ship breaking apart, sinking down, dragging them all to the bottom of the ocean with it. She would be lost forever, her parents never knowing what had happened to her. They would spend the rest of their lives looking, searching for her.

Emma bit back a scream. She felt tears in her eyes and she dropped her head, pressing against Fergus as hard as he was pressing into her.

The rain stopped with such abruptness that she honestly thought she had gone completely deaf. Emma stood up, pulling Fergus with her, when the hatch opened and Captain Jones came thundering down. He was soaked to the skin, rivulets of water flowing off him and puddling on the floor.

"All right?" he asked, throwing open one of the cabinets and rummaging around inside. Emma nodded mutely as he hauled out several tools.

"Fergus, get on deck, I need you."

With no further explanation he went back up the ladder, Fergus following behind. He didn't close the cover and Emma had to know what was going on. She climbed up after them and stood on deck, shocked by the devastation. Crates were scattered everywhere, loose ropes hung from the rigging and snaked across the deck, she even saw a few fish flopping helplessly on the planks. She could only imagine the height of the waves that had tossed them onto the ship.

She looked up and gasped. The main mast, the solid mass of wood that had looked nearly indestructible, was snapped nearly in half. The top part hung limply, like a puppet who's strings had been cut, and the ship listed in the same direction.

"What happened?"

"It was hit by lightning."

Emma gaped at Captain Jones, who was standing next to her.

"Was anyone hurt?" she asked.

"Aye, but they'll mend."

He shouted orders, and Emma watched as the crew hauled up the loose rigging, scrambling to pull the ship back together.

She realized suddenly that it was still dark. If the storm was over, shouldn't the sun have come back out? Emma glanced around and was struck by a strange feeling. The temperature was noticeably warmer, despite the heavy cloud, and there was a stillness in the air, a shocking absence of any wind or breeze. Aside from the frenzy of activity on deck, everything was unnaturally calm.

"What is this?" she asked. This was unlike anything she had come across in her days at sea.

"We're in the eye of the storm," the captain said grimly, "Smack in the middle. The mast has to come down before the storm drifts back over us or it will tip us over. Keswick! Cut the lines!"

He moved around the deck, yelling at the crew. Emma's hand crept up to her throat. The storm wasn't over? _They had to go through it again?_

She wanted to go back down below and find a place to hide, but she was rooted to the spot. The crew were all working frantically, voices raised as they called back and forth, the captain the loudest of them all as he directed them where to go and what to do. Emma watched him climb up the rigging, knife between his teeth and gaze fixed firmly on the damaged mast. She saw Smee's red cap bobbing up and down, his face flushed and strained. All of them were focused entirely on the ship, for the first time since she'd stepped on board, Emma didn't feel anyone was paying any attention to her. She backed up, trying to stay out of their way as they hauled rope and bundled up lengths of sailcloth.

Emma looked for Fergus and found him high up in the rigging, one hand holding on while he sawed at hanging lines with a knife in the other. She watched each one he cut snap in two and fall back down to the deck.

Ropes were being wrapped around the damaged section of mast. Captain Jones was yelling, gesturing wildly as the hanging end swung back and forth like an enormous pendulum. The ship rocked with the movement and Emma nearly fell over.

They were trying to hold on to it, but it hit the rigging, ripping the lines, and a terrified scream sounded. Emma's head flew up at the sound and she saw Fergus lose his grip and fall. It seemed to take forever, like he was a feather on the wind, and she heard her own voice as if from very far away.

"Fergus! _FERGUS!_"

He went plunging past the ship and Emma scrambled to the rail, slipping and falling on the soaking wet deck. She scraped her hands, but she ignored the pain, getting back to her feet and frantically scanning the ocean below. She caught sight of him, flailing in the water and she was vaguely aware that she was still screaming his name. Fergus's head went under and didn't come back up again, and she knew he was in trouble.

She yanked her hidden knife free of her boot and quickly cut a long slit down the front of her skirt, from waist to hem, the silk tearing apart. Emma pulled off her petticoat, leaving it in a heap on the deck, and climbed up on the rail. Fergus still hadn't reappeared, she saw nothing but the dark water. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and jumped.

The water was cold, colder than she expected, and she surfaced, gasping and spluttering from the shock. Emma grit her teeth and dove back under, looking for Fergus in the cloudy netherworld, praying desperately that he hadn't sunk too far down.

She caught a glimpse of something and she forced her arms to move, the water-logged layers of her remaining clothing clinging to her and making the motion almost impossible. Her leg kicked out of the slit she had cut in her skirt and she propelled forward, grabbing at the shape that loomed out of the darkness.

Emma's head broke the water, Fergus in her arms. He was unconscious, and she shifted, trying to get his face clear of the waves. His head lolled against her shoulder as she held him with one arm around his chest, her other arm treading water, keeping them afloat. But she was already feeling sluggish from the cold, every kick of her legs and sweep of her arm taking more and more effort. She wouldn't be able to keep it up for long.

She heard a splash, and blinking the salt from her eyes she saw the captain in the water, coming towards them. He was attached to a rope that went back up to the ship, "Give him here," he said, and Emma passed him Fergus's limp form.

"Put this around you."

He lifted a coil of rope out of the water, tied at the end in a loop that was large enough to slip over her head. Emma pulled her hands through and grabbed on to the line.

"Hold on!"

They were pulled up, the rope biting painfully under her arms, but Emma hung on for dear life. Captain Jones had Fergus flung over his shoulder, he still hadn't moved. She couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.

Hands reached over the rail and lifted her over, setting her down on the deck. Emma collapsed, her legs and arms were numb with cold and her wet clothes felt like they were made of lead. She struggled to her knees, staring at Fergus. He was laid out on his back, the captain and Keswick bent over him. Captain Jones pinched Fergus's nose shut and breathed into his mouth.

"Come on lad!"

Time seemed to stand still. Emma felt tears running down her cheeks but she made no move to brush them away, unable to do anything but stare at the small white face.

"Breathe! _Breathe!_" the captain commanded, like he could order Fergus back to life. She echoed him silently in her head, _"Please breathe."_

His chest heaved and a strangled sound erupted from his mouth. The captain quickly turned Fergus onto his side, and Emma saw water spill over his lips. His eyes blinked open, and her own closed as she fell back down, shuddering with relief.

A cheer sounded from the men. Emma opened her eyes and she looked up, locking gazes with Captain Jones. He was sitting back on his heels, staring at her with open mouthed astonishment.

"Captain."

Smee hunched down, speaking in a low voice. Emma couldn't hear what the first mate was saying, and she didn't much care. Fergus was sitting up, coughing into his hands while Keswick pounded him on the back.

"Right. We're not out of the woods just yet," Captain Jones said, standing up. "Everyone, back to your stations!"

The crew scattered, Smee pulled Fergus up and led him away. Emma pulled weakly at the rope that was still wrapped around her. Her soaked skirt and pantaloons rubbed against her legs, and wet clumps of hair stuck to her neck.

A pair of hands grasped the rope and lifted it off her, setting it aside.

"Are you injured?"

Emma's hands were scraped, and they along with her feet were tingling with pins and needles as the numbing cold wore off, her eyes burned from the salt and her whole body felt bruised and battered.

"No," she answered.

Captain Jones put his fingers under her chin again and lifted her head. His other hand pushed her hair back and his eyes searched her face.

"How is Fergus?" Emma asked.

"Alive, thanks to you. He'll be a bit sick from the seawater he swallowed, but he'll be fine."

The wind suddenly picked up, ruffling through the captain's wet hair as his head jerked up, scanning the sky.

"We're going back in," he said, and Emma wanted to cry at the thought of plunging back into the storm.

"Will the ship make it through?" she asked.

He looked back down and winked at her, "Never doubt the Jolly Roger or my sailing skills if you please, Princess."

She managed a watery smile.

Emma got to her feet with Captain Jones's help. He brought her back down to his cabin and surveyed her ruined gown.

"Captain!" a voice called from the deck.

She ran her hands self-consciously down the slit in her skirt, holding it closed, "You better get back up."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but he shook his head and silently opened his wardrobe. He pulled out a towel and a robe and passed them to her. Emma wiped her face and rubbed the towel over her wet hair.

"Captain!" the voice came again, sounding more insistent.

She watched him set foot on the ladder. He looked at her over his shoulder for a brief moment before he headed up, his long coat swirling around his legs. The hatch cover closed after him.

...

...

...

"What the_ hell_ were you thinking?"

The words came out at a near shout and Princess Emma was clearly taken aback by the vehemence in his voice.

Killian was surprised as well. The storm was over, they had made it through, and he had entered his cabin intending to check on the princess and thank her for saving Fergus's life. But when he saw her, sitting in a chair with his robe wrapped around her, looking pale and sick, he felt a great swell of anger rise in him. She had come so close to losing her own life, much closer then she probably realized. But he had spent years at sea, he knew the dangers that lurked beneath the ocean waves. Killian had seen men drown before, had lost members of his own crew to the mermaid's kiss. When Fergus had fallen in, he was certain that the boy would join those lost souls of the deep.

_He had seen it happen but had been unable to react. The mast had separated, the top end falling free of the part that remained in the deck, and the whole crew was occupied in getting it off the ship without letting it crash onto the deck or ripping a hole in the hull as they heaved it over the side. He had to save the ship or they'd all die._

_"What is she doing?"_

_He looked up at Smee's shout and saw the Princess standing on the rail. Before he could call out she jumped, and he felt his stomach drop down to his knees and his heart leap into his throat._

_Before the mast even hit the water he was running to the other side of the ship, looking over the rail and searching frantically for any sign of them._

_"Get a rope!" he yelled, throwing off his coat. As soon as the line was around his waist, and the looped end hung over his arm, he jumped._

"You can swim?"

"Well, obviously I can. You know, I never actually said that I couldn't, you just assumed that."

He wanted to tear his hair out, "Do you have any idea how foolish that was?"

"Was I supposed to just watch him drown?" the princess snapped.

No one back talked him on his own ship, "I told you to stay below!"

"Fine, then throw me back in the brig for disobeying orders, _Captain_."

She stood up, her hands on her hips and giving him a fierce glare. Killian didn't know why he was yelling at her when all he wanted to do was pull her in his arms and thank all the gods of the sea that she was safe. It was a miracle that no one had been lost during the storm, there were a few minor injuries, McIntyre had broken his wrist, and the full extent of the damage to his ship was still unknown, but they were all alive and still afloat.

They were all alive only thanks to her. The ocean had tried to claim a blood sacrifice, and she had snatched it back. But he couldn't stop shouting.

"You could have drowned, Princess, I don't care how well you can swim, jumping into the ocean in the middle of a bloody storm? That's near suicide! You could have died!"

"Yes, and then you'd have lost your ransom, right?" she said, obviously misinterpreting why he was upset.

He hadn't even thought of losing the ransom when he saw her jump, it hadn't entered his mind at all. Killian took two steps forward and grabbed her by her upper arms, wanting to shake some sense into her.

"Why? Why would you do that? Why would you take such an insane risk for a pirate?"

She looked honestly confused, "He's a child. And it was the honourable thing to do."

Honourable. The words struck through him, like the lightning that had struck his ship and shattered the mast.

"It was foolish," he said again, but his voice was quiet, the anger gone.

He let go of her arms and she sat down heavily in the chair. Her face was paper-white and she was clearly exhausted. Killian watched her lift a hand to her brow and he frowned.

He crouched down in front of her and grasped her wrists, turning her hands over to look at her palms. They were badly scraped, angry red lines cross-crossing her skin.

"You said you weren't injured."

He looked up into her face. She didn't meet his eyes.

"It's nothing," she replied, trying to pull her hands away.

Killian stood up. Bloody obstinate princess. He found a bottle of rum that had thankfully not broken, and a clean cloth. He poured some of the liquid onto it and knelt down in front of her again.

"It's not nothing. Now hold them out, I need to clean the wounds."

She uncurled her hands with obvious reluctance and he grimaced, "This will sting."

He pressed the cloth against the scrapes and she let out a cry of pain. He hated the sound but he didn't stop, making sure that he got everything flushed out. When he finished, he set a dry cloth against her palms as gently as he could.

Killian raised his head, "I forbid you from jumping off the ship again."

Her eyebrows lifted and a half-smile quirked her lips, "Even if you're the one who's drowning, Captain?"

Their eyes met and held.

"Thank you," he said, "For Fergus."

He'd lost crewmen before, but if his cabin boy had died, Killian knew that he'd have a new nightmare to keep at bay with copious drink and nameless women.

"I want to see him," the princess said firmly, like she thought he might argue. He wanted to order her to rest, but he knew it was futile. If she wanted to see Fergus, she'd see Fergus. If she wanted to jump off the Jolly Roger again and take his heart right along with her, she'd undoubtedly find a way to do it.

Never actually said she couldn't swim.

Princess Emma would make one hell of a pirate.


	8. Dry Ground

**Chapter Eight: Dry Ground**

The small lagoon was ringed with a crescent of clean white sand. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, birds called to each other in high-pitched trills, it was beautiful and serene and he hated it on sight.

Killian swallowed back the sour taste in his mouth. It was too familiar, but he reminded himself that this island was not that false paradise where Liam had last walked on dry land. He gave the order to drop anchor and it fell with a splash into the crystal clear water, stirring up a cloud of sand and sediment from the bottom and disturbing a school of orange fish.

The storm had taken it's toll. His battered ship had limped towards the nearest speck of land, in urgent need of a new main mast. Killian also wanted to do a full inspection of the hull and make sure there were no weak spots or signs of stress. The mainsail needed to be unrolled and patched up, the rigging was still a tangled mess, the list went on and on. The island was the perfect spot to carry out the repairs. It was too small to be inhabited, but large enough to have sizable trees to supply the needed wood. The lagoon made a natural harbour for the Jolly, and the beach could serve as a work space. He took a small landing party ashore, Keswick, the ship's carpenter Doyle, Parks, and was satisfied that it was more than suitable.

The crew set to work, half on the ship, half on the beach. He went back and forth, in a small boat, supervising the efforts. A large tree was felled and a new mast was being carved out of it under Doyle's direction, a freshwater stream was discovered and the water casks were refilled, the sails were stretched and stitched up, pegged out on the sand to finally finish drying after the thorough soaking they had received.

With everything underway he climbed on the platform and was lowered down to check on the hull, Smee in the boat and floating alongside. They went over it entirely, from rail to waterline, bow to stern. Once he was finished, Killian called for the platform to be raised and he was lifted up, over the side of the ship and down to the deck. He stepped off and locked eyes with Princess Emma.

"Now, Captain?" she asked.

Killian nodded and she smiled broadly.

She wanted to go ashore and he had promised to take her once he was done with the hull.

In the small boat that ferried them from the Jolly to the beach, she shaded herself with her parasol, looking around with interest. He was amused by the picture she made, sitting with ladylike posture, shoulders back and head held high, the parasol positioned just so over her bright blonde curls, royal elegance from the neck up. From the neck down, however, it was a different story. Her gown had not survived her impromptu swim, so she was attired in a random assortment of sailor's clothes that had been cobbled together for her. Dark blue trousers, and a white shirt that was far too large. The princess had the sleeves rolled up so they wouldn't cover her hands and belted it with his scarf. It should look ridiculous, but somehow she was still as beautiful in the rough linen as she had been in embroidered silk.

Two crewmen waded out into the water to meet the boat, one holding it steady while the other took the hawser Killian threw to him and went to tie it to the large piece of driftwood that they had started using as a moor. Killian jumped out and turned, holding his hand out to her. She grasped his fingers and tried to climb out, but she threw off the balance of the boat and it rocked sharply, making her squeal in alarm. He didn't pause, he just pulled her arm over his shoulder and lifted her up, carrying her through the shallow water to the dry sand and setting her down. Where she took one step and promptly fell over backwards, her mouth dropping open in surprise and shock as she landed with a muffled thump.

"Ow."

He had forgotten to warn her. Killian reached down and pulled her to her feet, "Have you heard the term "sea-legs", Princess?"

She shook her head.

"When you were first on your ship, did you find it hard to keep your balance? Constantly feel like you were rocking back and forth? When you get used to it, that's called getting your sea-legs. Well, after you've been at sea for a while and then set foot again on dry land, you can feel the same thing, but in reverse. You got your sea-legs and lost your land-legs."

The princess swayed like a drunken man, feet scrabbling for purchase in the soft sand, arms windmilling, and he tried not to laugh. She shot him an annoyed look, stumbling into him and holding onto his coat as she tried to remain upright.

"And how long does it take to get one's land-legs back?"

"Not as long as it usually takes to get your sea-legs, don't fret."

He rather hoped she wouldn't get them back fast, not when she was clinging to him so tightly, but after a few moments she let go and took a few hesitant steps.

"Ha!" she said triumphantly.

Killian showed her the work being done. Doyle, a gregarious man who was always happy for an audience, talked at great length while he planed down the tree trunk into the smooth round shape needed, explaining how they would float the new mast out to the ship once it was complete.

He nodded at the carpenter and told him to carry on, leading the princess further down the beach, "Once the new mast is in place, we will be underway."

"To home," she said with a wistful look. She must miss it, and he wondered what that felt like. He'd never had much to miss when he was young, and now his home travelled with him.

"Aye."

"And my ransom. You must be anxious, Captain, to receive your prize."

He smiled with some difficulty. Killian had stopped thinking about the princess's ransom, no longer counting gold coins in his head.

"Princess!"

They both looked up. Fergus was perched up in a palm tree, cutting down coconuts with a small cutlass.

"Fergus! Be careful up there!" she called.

The boy dropped a coconut down on the sand. Princess Emma picked it up, frowning at it.

Killian watched Fergus reach for another. The lad was none the worse for wear after his near drowning, his normal cheerful aplomb had quickly returned. He was even more infatuated with Princess Emma, if such a thing was possible, growing shockingly neglectful of his duties in the process. But the princess enjoyed his company, so Killian was being tolerant of his lax behaviour. Let him be at her beck and call, he did owe her a great debt, after all.

She watched him in the tree, clearly concerned, "Is that safe?" she asked, clutching Killian's arm, "What if he falls?"

"Well, Princess, luckily you're here to catch him."

He took the coconut from her hand and went to crack it open while she kept a sharp eye on the cabin boy, like she could keep him safe with sheer force of will.

The work went on. The men made good progress, but it was clear that it wouldn't be finished in a day. As the light started to wane the tools were packed up for the night. A pit was dug for a fire and a few wild birds were caught to serve as dinner, along with coconuts and other tropical fruit. The men wanted to camp out on the beach and Killian saw no reason to refuse, they deserved the chance to stretch their legs ashore and have a bit more space than they were normally afforded in the crew's quarters.

He took a pull from his flask of rum, wondering if the princess would want to sleep outside as well. He knew she wasn't overly fond of the brig, and he could have Fergus set up some kind of tent for her. He'd bunk down nearby, to keep watch and make sure she stayed out of trouble during the night.

"Fergus, where exactly is the princess?"

She had just been with the lad, but now Fergus was shouldering the basket of red fruit they had picked by himself, Her Royal Disappearing Act nowhere in sight. He felt a moment of panic before reminding himself that they were on an island, and unless she had somehow fashioned a raft out of twigs, there was nowhere for her to go.

Seven hells, for all he knew that was exactly what she had done. He would put nothing past her at this point.

But Fergus pointed to the rough trail that led to the freshwater stream, "She went to wash the sand off her hands."

Killian snagged one of the fruits out of the basket and headed up the trail.

"She couldn't rinse her hands in the ocean, where I could see her? There's a whole blasted lagoon right there, but no, that's not good enough for a princess. No salt water for milady's skin, only fresh."

He remembered how badly she had scraped her hands while rescuing Fergus and he stopped muttering under his breath. Killian reached the stream and she wasn't there, but small footprints in the muddy bank pointed him in the direction she had gone.

"Highness!" he yelled through cupped hands as he trudged along.

"I'm over here!"

He rounded a bend in the stream and stopped. The narrow waterway turned into a large pool, almost perfectly round, fed by a waterfall that fell from a rocky cliff rising sharply out of the ground. Bright green moss clung to the rocks and large flowers sprouted from the banks in a riot of colour, all shades of pinks and purples and yellows.

"Pretty, isn't it?" she said, turning around. She had picked one of the purple blooms and tucked it behind her ear.

"Beautiful," Killian replied, but he wasn't looking at the scenery.

She picked her way carefully across the slippery rocks with graceful steps.

"Definitely got your land-legs back," he remarked.

"It felt like the ground was tilting under me. Do you go through that every time you get off the ship?"

"I did, in the past, but not anymore."

Killian pulled his knife and cut the fruit in half, flicking away the pit. He offered one of the pieces to her while he bit into the other.

The juice stained her lips red and it was hard not to stare. The princess bent down to the pool and dipped her fingers into it, washing the sticky residue off her hands, but her mouth remained crimson.

"When did you stop being afraid of me?"

The princess paused by the water's edge and looked at him over her shoulder. Killian wasn't sure why he had asked the question, it had just slipped out.

"I don't know."

She dried her hands on the hem of her shirt and stood up, coming back over and examining him with narrowed eyes, like she was trying to pinpoint the exact moment.

"You're not though, right? Not afraid of me any longer?"

Her tongue swiped across her bottom lip and she drew it between her teeth. She gave a shake of her head.

"I'm not. Why? Do you want me to be?"

He didn't. He inspired fear wherever he went, his name and reputation had spread far and wide and he had revelled in it, taking it as his due as much as he took gold and silver. With barely a look he subdued entire ships, with a soft threat almost everyone backed down. The few who didn't had quickly learned the error of their ways at the point of his sword. But he didn't want that from her.

"I can't decide if you're incredibly brave or incredibly foolish, Your Highness."

She didn't retreat from him, she came closer. The mist from the waterfall made her skin damp and her hair caught the last of the light, shining brighter then any gold coin ever could.

"Sometimes I'm not sure either."

Her hand came up and brushed his necklace, fingers running over the charms he wore as protection against the creatures of the sea, the toothsome serpents, the duplicitous mermaids, the beckoning sirens. Princess Emma gave a slight pull, a tiny tug that he could have easily missed were he not focused so entirely on her touch. Killian lowered his head, watching as her eyes closed and her lips parted.

She tasted of sun-ripened fruit and the sweetness flooded his mouth, far more delectable from her lips then it had been from the source. Killian captured the back of her head with his hand, holding her in place as her hands pressed against his chest, fingers curled lightly into his shirt. He tilted his head and swept into her mouth, demanding and forceful. She met his kiss, not backing down, pushing back with her own lips and making his head swim and his blood turn to fire in his veins.

"Was that brave or foolish?"

The princess broke from his mouth, whispering the question.

"Both," he answered roughly.

She pulled back. Her eyes were wide, her face was flushed and her lips were still red. She took a step backwards, clearly flustered. A gentleman would let a lady retreat gracefully. A pirate would take more. The two sides were warring inside of him and he didn't know which one would win. He didn't know which one he wanted to win.

He wanted her to kiss him again.

Princess Emma headed back in the direction of the beach. Killian brushed his fingers across his lips, not quite sure if it had really happened or if it had been a strange waking dream, as he watched her disappear into the twilight. He looked down and saw the purple flower from her hair had fallen to the ground. He picked it up and twirled it between his finger and thumb.

He started to follow her, still looking at the flower and not paying attention to where he was going, and his foot slipped on the rocks. He righted himself quickly with a muttered curse, and heard her laugh.

"Are you sure you've got your land-legs back, Captain?"

Killian wasn't sure of anything anymore.

...

...

...

The list of foolish things she had done was growing longer every day.

Willingly stepping foot on a pirate ship.

Arguing with the captain of a pirate ship.

Flirting with the captain of a pirate ship.

Kissing the captain of a pirate ship.

"Fool" wasn't a strong enough word. Emma tried to think of another. Idiot? Imbecile?

Princess Emma, the Foolish Idiotic Imbecile. A fitting epitaph.

As a child she'd been horribly impulsive, never holding her tongue, saying exactly what she thought and doing whatever she wanted. As she grew older and she realized that everything she said and did was fodder for a gossipy court, she had forced herself to learn diplomacy and discretion. Lessons that she seemed to have forgotten.

She sat on a log by the fire with the taste of rum she hadn't drank in her mouth and she liked it. That was the scariest feeling of all, that she had enjoyed pressing her lips to his and letting herself forget all the reasons why she shouldn't for a brief moment.

She was brave.

She was foolish.

She was both.

Captain Jones chatted amicably with his men, staying a respectable distance away, but his eyes kept meeting hers and he would smirk and tap his lips with a long ringed finger, and she hoped her blush could be passed off as the result of sitting too close to the fire.

Foolish, so, so foolish.

What if he expected it again? What if he expected...more?

Emma's hands twisted in her lap, feeling the scratch of wool under her fingers. The clothes felt strange, and awkward, but she had been so tired of her blue dress that she would have gladly burned it even if it hadn't been ruined by the salt water. Her mirror was safe, the gems hidden in her corset were still a secret, both items tucked away in a small chest Fergus had found for her. She had wrapped them in the remains of her bodice and placed the second shirt she had been given on top. She wasn't sure what had happened to her dagger, she had dropped it on the deck before she jumped off the ship and she supposed it had been lost in the chaos of the storm. If any of the crew had seen her use it, if the captain wondered how her skirt had split, nothing had been said.

She caught his gaze again, blue eyes dark in the firelight, black hair falling over his forehead, the handsome face focused entirely on her, and he bit his bottom lip. Emma looked away.

Brave, even when it was foolish. She'd jumped into the ocean in the middle of a storm and she'd kissed Captain Killian Jones. Which one had been the crazier impulse?

She wished she could talk to her mother, her godmother, untangle the mess of emotions she was feeling for the man across the fire, but she was alone.

He settled on the log next to her and she stiffened, fighting the urge to flee.

"Princess."

"Captain."

"I'm afraid it has grown too late to return to the ship for the night. Fergus had set up a tent for you to retire to. I would have informed you sooner, but I confess I was a trifle...distracted."

Her cheeks grew hotter and it had nothing to do with the fire.

"Fine," she said, before the meaning of his words sunk in. When she realized what he said she looked over at him, startled. A night outside instead of a tiny locked cell, fresh air instead of stale, starlight instead of darkness? It was an appealing prospect.

His eyes were hooded and unreadable when he showed her to the tent that was set up at one end of the beach, away from where the crew had spread their bedrolls and hung their hammocks.

Captain Jones put his lantern down.

"Fergus will be there," he pointed to a hammock slung between two trees, "And I will be here."

A bedroll was laid out and she stared at it.

"Should you require any assistance whatsoever during the night, Princess, you know where to find me. Do not hesitate."

Emma didn't care if she caught on fire, she wasn't coming out of the tent until morning. The captain smiled lazily, grasping her hand and raising it for his customary kiss. He bent from the waist, soft lips pressing to her skin, and she could feel a tingle across her mouth, the memory of those lips on hers. He had kissed her with a bruising passion that she had never felt before, the sugar of the fruit on his lips and the spice of rum on his tongue and the vague sense of something more than just a kiss in the air around them. Something that thrilled her and scared her at the same time.

Did she really want to know what that something could be? Was she foolish, or brave?

"Never stop surprising me," he whispered.

"Goodnight, Captain," she said, for lack of a better response, and he straightened up.

"It has been an excellent night."

The bedroll inside the tent was no worse than the hard cot of the brig, but Emma had trouble falling asleep. She could see the light from the captain's lantern through the canvas wall for a long time before it finally winked out, and she was acutely aware that he was only a few feet away.

She closed her eyes. The ground under her no longer felt like it was shifting and tilting, and she had longed for the feel of solid earth, but somehow she missed the rocking of the ship, the soft movement that she had stopped noticing until it was gone.


	9. His Majesty's Fleet

**Your wonderful reviews are what makes the work all worthwhile! Thank you all who continue to follow along with me.**

**Chapter Nine: His Majesty's Fleet**

"A fine piece of work, Mr. Doyle."

The carpenter, a burly man with ruddy weather-beaten skin and a thick red beard, beamed at the praise.

"Why thank you kindly, ma'am."

Emma looked up the new mast, standing proud and tall on the deck, white sails fluttering around it.

"I'm amazed that you were able to finish so quickly."

"Well, Captain wanted it done, so it got done. It's best not to miss his deadlines."

A sound of disgust came from behind them. "Oh, and what was he gonna do about it if you did? Sail the ship with no mast?"

Wilkinson ambled into view and Emma looked at him disdainfully. Ever since that first day on the ship when he'd made his little insinuation and stood too close to her with that look on his face, she had tried to avoid him.

He sneered at her, circling around the mast,

"Anyway, he was too busy promenading around with her ladyship here to even notice how long you were taking."

"You don't watch that tongue, you'll wind up losing it," Doyle said, clearly annoyed, "And I'll hammer it to the new mast after the captain cuts it out."

Emma tried not to make a face at the image that conjured up in her mind.

Wilkinson didn't look cowed by the threat, "He'll have to pull his head out from under her skirts first, and he's obviously in no great hurry. We could've had the ransom in hand days ago, if he had gone through the straits instead of pointing us right into a bloody storm. Now we're just meandering hither and yon, no gold, no promised riches, because he would rather lounge about with a royal tart in his lap. Captain Jones has gone softer than a dead man's prick."

Doyle had pulled a knife and was cleaning his nails with it, slow and deliberate, "Aye mate? Really think the captain's gone soft? Go say all that to his face."

Emma looked down the length of the Jolly Roger, to where Captain Jones was standing, spyglass at his eye as he stared at something in the distance. Keswick was next to him and the two men were talking animately, too far away to hear the filth Wilkinson had just spewed.

"Go on. Captain's right there. Pull your sword and challenge him for the ship. If he's as soft as you say, it'll be easy."

Doyle examined the blade of his knife, turning it in the sun and the reflection hit Wilkinson square in the face, making him squint and raise his hand against the beam of light. He scowled and stomped away, throwing a hatch open and climbing below deck. Emma felt the colour high in her cheeks, a burn of embarrassment and anger.

She should tell the captain what Wilkinson had said and let him deal with the man, as he undoubtedly would if she told him how the crewman had just insulted him. But she didn't want to repeat his words.

"Foolish turd," Doyle muttered, putting the knife away. Emma caught his eye and he looked slightly abashed, "Begging your pardon ma'am."

She nodded, not taking any offense. She rather agreed with his assessment, even if she wouldn't have phrased it quite like that.

"I've been on the ship a long time, since the days of the first Captain Jones, the present captain's brother."

"Liam," Emma said, and Doyle looked surprised, his eyes going wide.

"Aye."

He moved slightly closer to her, but Emma didn't feel like she was in any danger. Doyle spoke quietly, looking around as if he was making sure no one was near enough to eavesdrop.

"The captain has changed around you. Not that it's a bad thing. He's lived under a shadow for a long time, but things have been different since you came on board. It's a change I never thought I'd see."

Emma swallowed, not sure what to say. The carpenter smiled, his lips nearly hidden by the bushy whiskers.

"Captain Jones, Captain Liam Jones, I mean, he would have liked you. He was a good man. Pity what happened to him."

She wanted to ask, but a loud shout from the captain caused all heads to turn.

"Look alive lads! We've got company coming, and we shall be giving them our standard welcome!"

A ripple of excitement went through the crew, as they went rushing to the side of the ship and looked in the direction Captain Jones was pointing. Doyle joined them, and Emma was left pondering what he had said.

The captain moved along the deck, giving orders as he went.

"What's going on?" Emma asked when he reached her. He had a wolfish smile on his face and a predatory gleam in his eye. She'd seen that look before, when he'd first spotted her.

"Look," he said, holding out the spyglass. She put it to her eye and felt him guide her arm, turning her slightly to the left, "Do you see the ship?"

She saw nothing but blue ocean and the line of the horizon, but then she caught something in the edge of the glass and she adjusted it slightly. A ship appeared.

"I see it."

"Twist here to bring it in focus," Captain Jones instructed, his hand covering hers on the spyglass. His other hand was resting lightly on her waist. Emma followed his directions, and the somewhat blurry shape sharpened into a large vessel. She could see uniformed men on the deck, in dark blue jackets and white pants, and caught a glimpse of a flag in the wind. She recognized that flag. It was the royal standard of King George, longtime enemy of her kingdom, suspected ally of both the Dark One and the Evil Queen.

Emma lowered the spyglass and looked at the captain. He was staring in the direction of the ship, and she felt the hand he had on her waist tighten. Despite the bright sun, she suddenly felt a chill, something cold going straight down her spine.

"A vessel from His Majesty's Royal Navy. Soon to rue the day it ever crossed paths with Killian Jones. I am going to take it, strip it of everything valuable, and send it running back to it's master with it's tail between it's legs."

She had never seen the captain quite like this. There was grim determination in his voice as he practically spit out the words and his face was twisted into a look of pure hate. Emma shivered slightly. This man had certainly not gone soft. He was as hard as steel.

"Come."

His tone brooked no argument, and Emma followed him to his cabin. He stepped close, looking down at her.

"Now, Princess, I know you don't enjoy your time in the brig. I am happy to let you remain in here while I attend to business, however I must insist that you stay put until I come for you. You will not come up on the deck under any circumstances, is that clear?"

As much as she chafed under the restriction, she wasn't sure if she wanted to witness the captain attacking another ship. She had already lived through it once. Emma nodded.

"Promise me," he said.

She nodded again, "I will stay here, as you have commanded."

He smiled, looking more like the man she had grown used to.

"Please be careful," Emma said, concerned. He had looked ready to go after the other ship with nothing but his bare hands. She was no longer afraid of him, but she was afraid for him.

"I always am," he replied, but it was a lie. The captain grasped both her hands and held them against his chest, "Do you wish to offer me a token for good luck that I may take with me to ensure my safety?"

"A perfumed handkerchief? A lock of my hair?"

"I would gladly take either, but...a kiss from such a beautiful princess, why, what could anyone on the other ship possibly have to compete with that?"

She had mentally compiled a rather long list of reasons why she shouldn't kiss him again during her sleepless night on that small island. She couldn't remember a single one. Captain Jones looked down at her, an uncertain half smile on his face that was so different from his normal brash confidence. He didn't know what she was going to do. She didn't know what she was going to do.

Emma's hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders and to the back of his neck, threading in the soft hair at his nape. His eyes darkened, and then his hands were around her waist as she pulled his head down. Their foreheads touched, and for a moment they were breathing the same air and then his lips were on hers and she forgot what breathing even was.

"There now. I am the luckiest sailor on the whole of the ocean today."

He started to head for the ladder, and Emma watched him go, but then he suddenly turned and closed the distance between them, his hand going to the back of her neck and pulling her up into another kiss. When they broke apart she opened her eyes and saw that his were still closed. After a long moment he blinked.

"Remember your promise. You will stay here,"

"Until you return," Emma finished, "I will."

The captain left, and Emma curled up in a chair, tucking her legs underneath her. She remembered his assault on her ship, as much as she wanted to forget, she couldn't push away the memory of him stepping on it with that hard look on his face. Not when she had just seen it again, only it had been somehow sharper, honed to a keen edge and ready to cut through anything that stood in his way. She had the uneasy feeling that Captain Jones would take the other ship or die trying.

A vessel that belonged to King George. Emma had never met him, which was ironic considering her own father was still the closest to being his heir. He was elderly, and in poor health now if the rumours were true, but her parents were convinced he'd stay alive out of sheer stubbornness to keep David off his throne. Her father had never been forgiven for defying his wishes, and they suspected the King had given aid to Regina when they defeated her and she had fled from her former kingdom.

Emma laid her head on her arm, listening to the commotion on deck. They were clearly readying for their attack, she could hear muffled shouts, and the sounds of heavy items being moved. The cannons, she realized. Was this what happened when her ship had been spotted in the distance? The captain's focus, razor-sharp, on another royal vessel?

Yes.

That same grim determination, that same contempt, that same hate?

No.

This was somehow...personal.

But why? What reason did the captain have, to despise the king?

...

...

"Steady...steady...now!"

The cannons fired, the iron beasts spewing black smoke with each thunderous shot. The gunners quickly reloaded, their faces dark with powder, and the assault began anew. The king's ship answered in kind, and the Jolly shuddered under the blasts.

This was far unlike their capture of the princess's ship. Her crew had been unprepared for combat and sorely lacking in defensive capabilities. The king's men were neither. They aimed themselves straight towards their attackers and met them head on.

There was nothing quite like a battle at sea. Armies clashed hand-to-hand on the field, but the ocean was another story. The ship protected them and hindered them, the best swordsman was powerless against an opponent he couldn't reach.

The king's ship was larger, heavier, and had more men. But the Jolly was far more manuevarable. Killian guided his ship out of range of the grappling hooks the king's men attempted to snare them with, and gave the gunners the order for another round. They struck hard and fast, veering off and closing back in, too quick for the other vessel to counter. Their cannon shot met empty air more then his ship, running the king's gunners ragged in the process. When he sensed the timing was right, he brought them alongside, and the hooks flew from the Jolly to the king's ship, tethering them together.

His crew flooded the other vessel, swords and pistols drawn. Killian was the first over, sinking his blade into an unlucky sailor as the bloodlust took over.

Had it been any other flag he wouldn't have pursued it. But the sight of the familiar standard, the one that he had proudly sailed under before his world collapsed, had ignited a fire within him that would not stop until it consumed everything it could. The flag was the emblem of the man who had sent Liam to his death, and there was no power on earth that would prevent Killian from taking any chance to avenge his brother. He hacked and slashed his way across the deck, the men who attempted to stand in his way falling as Liam fell, the shouts and screams and acrid smell of gunpowder filling his senses until there was nothing else left.

When it was over and the remaining crew were huddled together on the deck, Killian stood in front of the other captain, the king's flag in his hands. It was torn along the edge from where it had been hastily ripped down. The defeated leader was on his knees, head bowed, and Killian looked down at the crown of his head, voice dripping with venom.

"Tell his majesty that Killian Jones sends his regards."

He dropped the flag to the deck and drew his knife, slamming it down through the fabric and pinning it to the wood.

As several of his men watched over the surviving crew, the rest set to work ransacking the ship. The cannons were too heavy to take with them, so they were rolled over the side to decorate the bottom of the ocean. The rigging was cut to useless ribbons, the fittings were stripped, every scrap of brass and copper and steel that they could pry loose. Killian left them to it and made his way to the captain's quarters.

The captain was clearly not a fastidious man, very bad form for an officer. He sifted through the mess of papers on the desk, pocketing a silver paperweight as he went. A bottle of ink had spilled, soaking through several dispatches. He picked one up by the edge and skimmed the words that were still visible.

_"and thus, to find and capture...the value of such a prisoner would be immeasurable, to His Majesty personally, as the child of...said to have departed by ship, destination unknown...search to be conducted in utmost secrecy."_

He dropped the paper back on the desk. The king was still as devious as ever, sending his ships on his secret missions. Seeking a prisoner this time instead of a poison.

"Captain?"

Killian turned. Smee and Parks were standing shoulder-to-shoulder inside the door.

"Well? Have the victors collected the spoils?"

Smee spoke, "There's not much. The cargo hold is empty, the purser's safe had a little silver but no gold."

"Not enough to recoup the cost of the powder we spent taking the ship," Parks added.

Killian glared, "Thank you, Mr. Parks for that assessment, but the goal was not profit."

Smee's chin dropped as Parks's raised, each man looked confused in his own way.

"The goal," his voice was a low growl that made them both flinch, "was to bloody the king's nose, and to remind him that the Jolly Roger is not to be toyed with. There's not a man on that deck will forget what happened here, and what pirates bested them this day."

"Be that as it may, the cost of the king's bloody nose must come from somewhere," Parks said evenly.

He gripped the edge of the desk, annoyed. The captain's untidy pile of papers was spread out before him, he could see the king's own signature on one.

"We still have the princess's ransom to come. That will more than cover the costs."

He swept the desk clean and trod through the papers he had just deposited on the floor, leaving his bootprints on the king's name.

The hooks were released and the king's crippled ship was left to drift away. They would be able to eventually make port, but it would take days, and the damage would take weeks if not months to fully repair, at no small expense.

Killian's crew was in a celebratory mood, drinking from the barrels of ale they had taken from the other ship, reliving the battle and already embellishing the tale. At the next port it wouldn't be one ship they had taken but three.

He didn't join in the retelling of the victory or the imbibing of the stolen spirits. Standing apart from his men, he felt empty and hollow. He usually felt a sense of satisfaction whenever he was able to strike at the king, but as he watched his enemy's ship disappear into the night, he only felt tired. He'd spent years chasing the king's ships, and what good had it done? Liam was still dead, and the king hadn't changed his tactics one bit.

His cabin was dark and quiet, Princess Emma fast asleep in a chair. He'd had Fergus check on her while he was occupied on the other ship, and instructed the lad to bring her something to eat. He'd had nothing since breakfast, and there was sure to be something set aside for him in the galley, but he wasn't hungry.

Moving softly so he wouldn't wake her, he unlocked a cabinet and pulled out a case. It was full of pilfered trophies, and he added the silver paperweight. In another compartment the princess's sapphires lay in a dark shiny pile, next to the gold hair comb. Killian picked it up and ran his fingers over it. The twin swans faced each other, the graceful arch of their necks forming a heart shape, emerald eyes winking up at him. He had planned to sell the jewels at the next port where he could find a buyer for such fine items, but as he set the comb back and closed the case, he decided he would keep them.

He watched her sleep, wishing that he didn't have to wake her up. He looked at his bed, it would be so easy to just scoop her up and lay her down, curling himself around her, but while she may have willingly kissed him, he didn't think she would let him get that close.

Killian crouched down in front of the chair, pushing back the hair that had fallen in front of her face. It wasn't even the desire to lie with her that made him want to take her to bed, he just didn't want to be alone. It could be chaste and he'd be content. Her warmth, her softness, to chase away the cold and fill the emptiness inside him.

"Emma,"

He whispered the name and shook his head at his fanciful thoughts.

"Princess? Wake up."

Killian gently shook her shoulder and she roused, the green eyes blinking open and looking at him, hazy and unfocused.

"It worked," she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

"What did?"

Her hand reached out and touched his face, rubbing against his cheek. The simple caress made something inside him ache.

"The token for good luck. It kept you safe."

He smiled, "Aye, it most certainly did. Thank you."

"Anytime."

Her eyes slid closed again and he sighed. The brig was too far away. Killian slid his arms under her and brought her to the bed, laying her down and pulling the blanket over her. She rolled to her side almost immediately, curling a hand around his pillow.

"Sleep well, Princess."

Killian sat down in the chair. He found the most comfortable position he could manage, and closed his eyes.

...

...

_He crept into the hold on silent feet and set the lantern down. The night watch was on the deck, keeping vigil for any external threat and blind to what was happening below. The crew was sleeping off their ale, the captain shut up tight in his quarters, undoubtedly spending another pleasant night with his royal plaything. No one had seen him moving through the ship._

_The provisions took up most of the space, the foodstuffs, barrels and bags and jars all neat and orderly, everything needed to keep them fed. He left those alone and turned to the water casks._

_Without an adequate supply of fresh water, they couldn't remain at sea. If something were to happen to the casks, they would be forced to make for land._

_He set to work._


	10. Sabotage and Swords

**Chapter Ten: Sabotage and Swords**

"Bloody hell!"

He surveyed it again.

"How the hell did it happen?"

Smee shook his head, "We don't know, Captain."

Killian thrust the cup under Smee's nose, the liquid inside sloshing almost over the sides, "Near half the water goes stagnant almost overnight and you don't know how?"

Smee shrugged helplessly, "Perhaps the casks were sealed improperly after they were refilled?"

It was the most likely explanation but Killian felt like something was off. One or two was understandable, but half? He made a face at the brackish water in the cup. It was completely unusable, and worse, the casks themselves would have to be replaced, since he couldn't be sure if they were contaminated or safe. They wouldn't be able to stop and refill at the closest water source, they would have to make port.

He shoved the cup aside as he stood up, grabbing a map and unrolling it across his desk. He held down the edges with his hands, running his eyes over the lines of longitude and latitude.

"Where are we?" he asked, too angry to focus properly.

"Here sir," Smee said, pointing.

Killian poured over the nearest shoreline to their position, calculating distances. None of the options were especially desirable, but he finally decided on one.

"We'll go here," he said, marking the parchment, "Assuming the remaining stores are safe, we have enough to get us there. But I want the hold guarded from now on. See to it."

"Aye, Captain," Smee replied.

When his first mate left, Killian stared down at the cup of water, rubbing his hand over his jaw. He didn't like this one bit. If the casks had been improperly sealed, then someone on his crew had been derelict in his duties and needed to be punished. If they hadn't, the only other thing he could think of was deliberate sabotage, but who and why was beyond him. He would have to keep a sharp eye on the crew.

He hadn't wanted to make another stop, taking the Jolly into port was risky with the princess on board. Contraband would be overlooked with a little bribery, but the princess was not undocumented wine or an untaxed bolt of cloth. If she was discovered, she would be taken from him. But he had no other choice, they couldn't risk running out of water.

Killian slammed his fist down on the desk and sat down heavily in his chair. New water casks wouldn't come cheap, and Parks would pitch a fit over the cost. The purser was a tight-fisted bastard who watched over the Jolly's expenses like a hawk. Parks was still annoyed that they hadn't turned a profit on their take from the king's ship, the small amount of silver not coming anywhere near the cost of the gunpowder they had used during the fight. There was nothing else that could be done, but Killian wasn't looking forward to that conversation.

His fingers drummed on the map, over the port he had marked. More delays. He had expected that they would have reached Princess Emma's home days ago, but the storm and the appearance of the king's ship had thrown his plans right out the window. Then there was the princess herself. Truth be told, he had taken the longer route to her kingdom so he could have more time in her company before he returned her to her parents. He didn't expect he would ever see her again after that, pirates didn't appear at court, after all, and princesses didn't visit taverns on the docks. She'd go back to her life, and he'd go back to his, and maybe one day he'd hear the news that she had accepted a suitor and married some wealthy prince or duke.

He doubted she'd ever think of him again after she left his ship. The pirate who had held her captive, why would she want to remember him? Killian knew though that he'd never forget her. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out the withered remains of a purple flower, the one that had been tucked behind her ear when she'd tugged his head down to hers and shocked him with her kiss. The petals were turning to dust, but he'd always carry the memory of Princess Emma with him.

...

On the deck, he cast a wary eye over his crew, picking out the most likely candidates. If the casks had been deliberately sabotaged, he would find the culprit and feed him to the sharks.

"Fergus!" he called as he strolled down the length of his ship, his shoulders tight with tension, imagining guilt on every face he passed.

The blond head appeared, "Aye, Captain?"

"Fetch the practice swords, it's high time you had another lesson."

The cabin boy rushed off to get them, excitement written all over his face. Killian had been teaching Fergus how to use a sword ever since he had taken him aboard. He hadn't made time for a lesson in while, but a bit of activity was just what he needed to clear his head, otherwise he'd start interrogating men at random. The questions would come, but he wanted time to sharpen his knives first.

The crew cleared a space on the deck, those who weren't on duty staying to watch. Killian hefted the practice sword in his hand. It was a smallsword, lightweight, designed for quick thrusts and finesse, unlike the heavier, clumsier cutlasses. The blade had been blunted, but aside from that, it was a real weapon. It wouldn't slice through a limb, but it could still do damage.

"Stance," he said, watching Fergus shift his weight, "On your back foot a little more. Good."

Killian fell into his own fighting stance, shoulders down, elbows relaxed. Fergus raised his sword, ready for his first move.

"And, go!"

The swords met in the air with a sharp clang. Fergus attempted a feint, turning to the left and then striking on the right, but Killian saw it coming and easily blocked the move. They broke apart and backed up.

"Next time don't drop so low," he instructed, "Try again."

The lad was definitely improving. Killian coached him through several moves, correcting his form and demonstrating the proper technique.

"Now, a full on spar. Try to disarm me."

Fergus took a breath and lunged. Killian met his strike, and the boy recovered nicely. He could hear the crew shouting encouragement, applauding when Fergus managed to get close. Killian fought defensively, not attempting to push back, letting his young pupil try out his skills.

Princess Emma was among the spectators, sitting on a crate and cheering Fergus on. The tips of his ears went pink every time she called out, and Killian hid his amusement. But when he looked over at her, leaving himself open and vulnerable, Killian knocked the sword from his hand and tapped him on the head with the flat of his blade.

"Pay attention to your opponent, lad, not to your audience."

"Sorry, Captain," Fergus wheezed, leaning over and bracing his hands on his thighs.

Killian clapped him on the shoulder, "You're getting better, but remember, do not get distracted."

He leaned down and spoke in the boy's ear, "No matter how lovely the distraction might be."

Fergus flushed with more than exertion, and when the princess greeted him with praise, calling him the equal to any knight in her kingdom, his embarrassed delight at the words made Killian grin.

"Anyone care to challenge the captain?" he asked, sword resting on his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at his men, turning in a circle and waiting to see if anyone would try their luck against him.

Keswick stepped forward and picked up the other sword.

"I'll take a swing."

His second mate was a fair swordsman, and Killian relished the challenge. They circled each other, jabbing, slashing, the harsh sound of metal crashing together echoing across the deck. He could hear wagers being placed, bets on whether blood would be drawn. Sweat started to trickle down his back and Keswick was grunting with each new move, barely managing to block a few of Killian's strikes.

Keswick went high, his blade swinging through the air. Killian pivoted quickly on his back foot and went low, sweeping Keswick's legs out from under him. His opponent fell to the deck and Killian stood over him, the point of his sword aimed at his heart. He smiled and lowered his weapon, extending his hand. Keswick grasped it, and Killian helped him stand.

"Good show, mate."

Keswick gave a mock bow, "Your victory, Captain."

"Anyone else?" Killian called, twirling his blade in his hand with an elaborate flourish. He met Doyle's eyes, but the carpenter put up his hands in surrender.

"I'm no hand with a sword, Captain, give me a hammer instead any day of the week."

Killian laughed and looked around, "No one else?"

He looked at Wilkinson, who took a step back, eyes averted. McIntyre held up his bandaged wrist, still encased in a split, and shrugged.

"Seems there are no more men among my crew then."

He turned to the princess, "Do you have any experience with a blade, Your Highness?"

"My father is one of the finest swordsman in the kingdom. He has taught me some of what he knows."

Killian raised an eyebrow, "Care to demonstrate?"

As she had done from the moment he clapped eyes on her, Princess Emma didn't back down from him. She stood up and took the sword Keswick held out, his eyebrows practically touching his hair. Clearly the second mate hadn't expected her to accept. From the way she held it, she clearly hadn't been lying, she'd had some instruction. How much remained to be seen.

Killian backed up, twirling his sword around his wrist again, "First to disarm wins."

She hefted the blade, finding the balance point, "I take it I shall owe you a forfeit if you are victorious?"

"And I shall give you another prize if you are," he said. She still hadn't asked for her first prize from their card game, although she obviously wanted something. He would ask her again when they were alone.

The princess raised the sword in a formal challenge, "Agreed."

They squared off. Killian waited for her to make the first move. When she did, it was a quick slash that he retreated from, his blade crossing hers. He held himself in check at first, letting her come at him so he could gain some measure of her skill. She had speed, which was unsurprising, he remembered her mad dash across the deck of her ship when she had threatened to jump. She didn't have the force of a man, but her eye was reasonably accurate, aiming for all his weak points.

Killian countered her attempt at his left side, "Good form!" he said.

The crew had a whole new set of bets going, and Fergus was cheering for the princess, the traitor. Killian started to fight back, careful not to actually strike her. Her defence wasn't as good, she started to lose ground under his blows. He smiled, knowing he was going to win. When the opportunity came and she missed her target, the blade slicing past him and pointed down at the deck, he used his sword to hold it down, quickly grasping her wrist and pulling her flush against him, her back to his front. He wrapped his left arm around her waist as the sword dropped out of her hand and he raised his blade, holding it across her neck but not actually touching her. Blunted edge or not, he wouldn't risk nicking her.

"It seems you have won," she said.

Killian lowered his sword and used his arm to turn her towards him.

"You have been taught well. The victory was not effortless."

Princess Emma smiled, "I will tell my father you said that. He shall be pleased that those many frustrating hours attempting to teach me did not go to waste."

He rather doubted that her father, the king, would be pleased to hear his daughter had crossed swords with a pirate. But he kept his mouth shut as the crew drifted around them, money changing hands as the wagers were settled. Fergus collected the swords, extracting a promise from him that they would have another lesson soon, and the princess handed the boy a ribbon from her hair.

"A token for my newest knight, to carry with you during your next joust."

The ribbon disappeared into Fergus's pocket and he stammered out, "Thank you, Princess."

"He's got his head in the clouds over you," Killian said when the lad was gone, "He'd follow you right off the ship."

"He'd make a fine knight one day," she replied, turning to look at him, "if he wasn't already a pirate."

..

When they sat down to dinner in his quarters, he poured her a shot of rum.

"A drink to a hard earned victory."

"I doubt it was that difficult for you to win," she said, toying with the glass. He downed his drink and looked pointedly at hers. She took a sip and made a face. Despite his best efforts, she still wasn't fond of the stuff.

Killian sprawled out in his chair, glass dangling from his finger, "So your father is a warrior king."

"Well," she said, managing another sip, "He has fought battles. In fact, he rescued my mother from enemy knights not long after they first met."

Killian drank another shot, "Saved the damsel in distress, did he?"

"Something like that. But then she saved him from a group of trolls not long after."

He wasn't familiar with the rituals of royal courtship, but he didn't think it normally involved so many rescues. Enemy knights? Trolls?

The princess went on, the candlelight dancing across her face as she spoke, "They wanted me to learn their weapons. My mother's is the bow, but I'm afraid I have no aptitude for it despite her best efforts. I did a little better with the sword."

"You have fine speed, but your defense is weak."

She frowned, "My father says the same thing. I don't think I'll ever handle a sword the way he can."

He didn't like the unhappy note in her voice, "There are other weapons."

"Like a rock."

Killian shrugged, "Whatever works in a pinch. A rock. A threat to throw yourself off a ship and drown, even though you can secretly swim."

She dropped her head at the reminder, her cheeks going pink, "That hardly took skill."

"But it was a weapon none the less, and you wielded it expertly," he said and reached across the table to grasp her hand, "Perhaps you won't master the sword or the bow, but you find what you can and you use it. I've seen you do it, Princess, and trust me, there's plenty who can't."

She seemed pleased with his words, lips curled in a half smile and lashes lowered against her cheeks. He felt his own smile break across his face.

"Now, shall we eat?" he said, snapping the napkin open and draping it over his lap.

After the meal she read from her book while he sat at his desk and poured over his map again, the mystery of the water casks pulling at the back of his mind. What was to be gained by sabotaging the ship's water supply? An attempt to sicken them? But it was obvious that the water was no good, no one would be fool enough to drink it. All it had accomplished was to force another delay and cut into their profits, which affected everyone on the ship. He pressed his hand against his forehead. Everyone was a bloody suspect, save three people, himself, the princess, and Fergus. He knew he hadn't done it, the princess never had the opportunity to do it, and Fergus was Fergus.

"What's wrong?"

Killian looked up and saw Princess Emma standing over him, head tilted in concern. He sighed, "This may surprise you, but pirates are not the most trustworthy of men."

Her voice was dry, "I had no idea, Captain."

He was sure he was in for a sleepless night trying to work it out anyway so he pushed the thoughts away and focused on her instead. He pulled her into his lap, making her eyes go wide with surprise as she grabbed his shoulders to balance herself. Killian brushed his thumb over her lips.

"I do believe that you owe me a forfeit, Princess."

Not giving her a chance to respond he claimed her mouth, pulling her tight against him. The princess gasped, and he pushed past her lips, hungry to taste everything he could. Killian ran his hand through her hair, pulling the ribbons out and letting the silky curtain fall loose around them. He raked his fingers through the strands, grabbing handfuls and no doubt making a wild tangle of her curls. Her tongue started to dance with his and he smiled against her lips.

His other hand was pressed against the curve of her hip, keeping her firmly planted on his legs. The weight of her body anchored him to the chair, as hot and pulsing need rose in him and he couldn't remember ever wanting a woman as badly as he wanted her.

Pulling away from the sweet perfection of her mouth, he trailed kisses along the line of her jaw and down her neck, his breath hot as he traced patterns on her skin, the softest he had ever felt. Everything about her was so delicate, a sharp contrast to the steel core she had hidden within. It was driving him mad, he wanted to cherish that softness and he wanted to test that strength. Killian sucked and licked at her neck, knowing he was leaving marks on the fragile skin but not caring one whit. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart, beating like butterfly's wings against his chest, through the layers of his shirt and vest, and heard her heaving breaths in his ear, her hands locked over his shoulders.

He imagined sweeping the desk clean and laying her down, stripping off the ill-fitting clothes and running his tongue down the valley between her breasts while he freed himself from his trousers. He'd push her legs apart and they'd wrap snug over his hips as he lay between them and took exactly what he wanted. For years he had taken everything and anything he wanted and not thought twice about it. She had to feel his need, she had to know that he wanted so much more than a kiss.

Princess Emma pulled back, almost falling to the floor in her haste to get away from him.

"Captain," she said, and the fear in her voice made his heart stop.

He threw his head back and closed his eyes. He had made her afraid of him again and he cursed himself for it, "I'm sorry," he choked out.

For a long moment there was nothing but silence, and then he felt her hands on his chest. Killian opened his eyes and she was looking at him. Her lips were swollen, her hair tumbled over her shoulder, she was more beautiful than any siren of the sea, and he would do anything she asked, give her anything she wanted.

'I think it's time I retired for the night," she said.

He closed his eyes again, feeling his hands twitch with the temptation to retire her right into his bed, "As you wish, Your Highness."

Killian saw her to the brig, relieved that she didn't shy away from his hand on her waist. She stepped into the cell and he locked the door behind her. He could see his love bites dark on her neck and he felt a flash of long-forgotten shame even as he wanted to mark her more, to cover all of that fine white skin with his mouth and hands and body. Her hand touched the marks and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.

"Good night, Princess."

His voice was hoarse.

"Good night, Captain."

Hers was unsteady.

When he collapsed into his empty bed, still hard and straining for her, the feel of her under his fingers and the taste of her in his mouth. For years he'd had anything he wanted.

Now he wanted the one thing he could never have.


	11. Stolen Treasure

**Chapter Eleven: Stolen Treasure**

Snow White was still beautiful, her abundant dark hair only touched with the barest hint of silver, lips still red and full. There were a fine cobweb of lines around her eyes, and a deep furrow across her forehead, a permanent worry line caused by years of queenly decisions and the strain of ruling a sometimes turbulent kingdom. But despite the signs of age, her mother would always be the fairest of them all to her.

She faded away and Emma curled her hand around the mirror, calling the image back.

"Mother, what do I do?" she whispered, wishing more than anything that she could talk to her, pour out all the turmoil in her heart to the one person who might understand.

She was lying on her side in the narrow cot, facing the wall. Emma could hear the lap of the waves against the outside of the hull, the hull of his ship.

Snow White disappeared again and Emma's own reflection took her place. She tilted the mirror slightly and looked at the marks on her neck, the marks he had left. Emma wasn't ignorant, she knew what happened between a man and a woman in a bedchamber, even if she hadn't yet experienced it herself.

But she hadn't known that you could kiss someone hard enough to sear a brand right into their skin.

She could still feel it, the memory of his lips moving over her throat was all she could think about. He hadn't just kissed her, he had licked and sucked and scraped his teeth on her and it had been unlike anything she had ever felt, sitting on his lap, hands braced on his shoulders. He was all hard muscle under the thin shirt, everything about him was so hard, the harsh lines of his clothing, the slashes of black around his eyes, the set in his jaw when he sat at his desk and stared at whatever was displeasing him. But then he looked at her and the blue eyes went soft, his face shifted, the tightness vanishing as if it had never been there in the first place. Replaced with something else, something that had driven him to pull her close and etch her with the shape of his mouth.

Emma felt like she should cover the marks up, that she should be embarrassed by them. She was in a way, but they fascinated her as well and she couldn't stop looking at them in the mirror. Besides, she had nothing to conceal them with, except the captain's long black scarf.

She closed the mirror and tucked it under the thin pillow, laying her head down on it. Fergus had obviously been confused when she had refused to leave her cell, turning away the breakfast he brought her and upsetting their normal routine. But she didn't want to go up on deck and endure the stares and the whispers that would undoubtedly follow. Emma wanted her mother, she wanted to lay her head in Snow's lap like she had when she was a small child and be soothed by her mother's gentle hand stroking her hair.

_Captain Jones's large hand in her hair, fingers pressed against her scalp as he slipped past her lips with his tongue, dipping into her mouth._

Emma sighed. She had known she would lose their swordfight, she had seen the skill he displayed when he'd been instructing Fergus and sparring with Keswick. She was no match for him. Her father would have been, but he wasn't here, there was only her, and she had taken the blade and done her best knowing the whole time that it would be futile. Captain Jones would win, and she would owe him a forfeit. And she had wanted to lose.

What was that old saying, be careful what you wish for because you just might get it?

The brig door squeaked every time it opened or closed, the sound alerting her to an imminent arrival. When Captain Jones entered the room, she was on her feet with her back against the wall.

He hesitated, his step faltering for a second before he came up to the bars of her cell.

"It was never my intent to cause you any distress last night, Princess."

Emma nodded, as his graze dropped to her neck and something that looked like regret flashed across his face. She raised her hand self-consciously, covering the marks.

_Soft mouth on her, hard thighs under her, and something else pressed up against her._

"I didn't mean...please accept my apology for…"

He was still staring at her throat and she saw him swallow hard.

"Accepted," she said quickly, looking away as she dropped her chin, trying to hide the dark blotches.

"Fergus said you didn't eat a bite this morning, and you wouldn't come up on deck."

Emma pressed herself a little further into the wall, wishing she could sink right into it.

"Did I upset you that much that you won't even look at me?"

She lifted her eyes to meet his, and she flinched slightly at the look on his face. His unhappiness was plain as he leaned on the bars, hunched over slightly with a deep frown on his lips. He thought she was angry at him, when the truth was she wanted to know what other secrets lay beyond the simple kisses she had shared with other men. Could she leave the same marks on his neck? What would have happened if she hadn't pulled back and left his quarters when she did? But she had been reckless enough with him already, away from home with the prying eyes and wagging tongues of her court. She had let herself get swept away in the new sensations she had only ever felt with him, not with any of the lords or the knights who courted her.

She wanted more. But she couldn't. She shouldn't.

She wanted her mother.

"No," she said quietly, "I'm not upset with you, Captain."

His voice was soft and sad, "Then why are you hiding?"

Emma didn't answer, but she dropped her hand from her neck and pushed away from the wall, coming closer to where the captain stood. He watched her every move with those eyes that were the bluest she had ever seen.

"We will be in port soon, so if you want to come on deck first, it has to be now."

Emma froze, "Are we in my kingdom already?"

The captain shook his head, "I'm afraid there has been an unforeseen problem. We require more water, so we need to stop. It will only be a short stay, but you can't be seen by anyone."

Emma felt her shoulders slump. She was still his prisoner above all else and she couldn't forget that no matter how much she wanted to.

"Of course," she said, resigned to being hidden away like the stolen goods she was, "I will stay here."

She backed up again, sitting down on the cot.

Captain Jones continued to watch her through the bars, his fingers curled around them.

"I will come let you out as soon as I can. Is there anything I can bring back for you?"

Emma shook her head. She didn't want any more presents. She wanted to go home and throw herself into her mother's arms and stop remembering what it had felt like to be in his. He was a pirate, not a suitor, and after he got his ransom he would sail off and she would never see him again.

When he finally left, with an admonishment that she had to eat and Fergus would be instructed not to let her refuse the next meal, Emma pulled the mirror out again and stared at her neck, running her fingers lightly over the impressions of his kiss.

...

...

...

As the harbour came into view, Killian leaned his elbows on the rail, feeling the wind ruffle through his hair and hearing the screech of seagulls, the blasted plague of birds calling to each other as they soared overhead. The port belonged to a rather sleepy little fishing village, or rather, he remembered it as being a rather sleepy little fishing village from his last visit. It seemed much more awake now, boats and ships of all sizes and shapes docked, and a bustle of activity that was obvious even from a distance.

He decided that was a good thing. Easier for the Jolly to slip in and out without too much notice.

The crew was all on deck, watching the rapidly approaching shore. He would have to let them off when they docked this time or he'd have a mutiny on his hands. They'd been long at sea and none save him had enjoyed any type of feminine companionship in weeks. Sleepy fishing village or not, every port had at least one brothel, and a sailor would find it sure as if he had a compass in his hand pointing the way. Killian snorted. Maybe not a compass, but something else that pointed and men followed wherever it led.

He had no desire to join in. The needle in his head was spinning in one direction only and it wasn't pointing him towards a pliant tavern wench or a welcoming whore. The woman he wanted couldn't be bought with a charming smile or a silver coin, she seemed barely able to stomach the very sight of him, despite her words to the contrary. And it was all his own stupid fault.

The harbourmaster, a rather rotund man, came hurrying down the dock to meet the ship as the crew started tying the lines, huffing and puffing with the exertion.

"Name?" he wheezed out.

"Captain Killian Jones."

"Ship?"

"The Jolly Roger."

"Cargo?"

_The most beautiful woman he had ever seen._

"None."

"Purpose?"

"Water casks need to be replaced. Is there a merchant you recommend?"

The harbourmaster gave him a name and pointed the way, and Killian handed him the docking fee, which he accepted and dropped into a bulging purse, giving it a satisfied pat.

Killian eyed the activity around them, "I was here about four months ago and it wasn't near this busy. What's going on?"

The man shrugged, "Been busier the last few weeks, that's for sure. A lot of people travelling north. Who knows, there's all kind of rumours flying around. A royal fleet came through about a fortnight ago, the whole damn navy practically, thinking I had nothing better to do then wait on them all day and night. King George's men can go bugger themselves as far as I'm concerned, this isn't part of his lands, they have no authority here, but try telling twenty drunk midshipmen that when they think they're getting fleeced at the tavern for the cost of their pints."

Killian tensed at the mention of the king while the harbourmaster rambled on, clearly he had opened some kind of floodgate with his inquiry.

"Half the people coming through are insisting we're on the brink of another Ogre War and they're getting out of the way, which is all stuff and nonsense if you ask me, then there's this talk of a witch on the loose, and some are insisting the Dark One himself is going to swoop out of his castle and put the whole realm under some type of enchantment, but people have been saying that for near twenty years now, so if he is, he's certainly taking his sweet time about it. Anyway, it's got everyone all riled up and it's good for business."

Killian had tuned out half of what the harbourmaster just said, not caring about wild rumours of ogres or witches, "Well, we'll be off as soon as we get the new casks loaded."

As the man left, Killian swung himself back up on deck, taking a quick look around.

"Fergus," he beckoned with a wave of his hand.

"Captain?"

He spoke into the boy's ear as he handed him the key to the princess's cell, "Look after her. Make sure she eats, that's an order, mind, and she's to have anything she wants. She has to stay in the cell until I get back though."

"Aye, Captain."

The princess liked Fergus, Killian was sure he could cajole her into taking some food.

He stepped up on the aft deck and looked down at the crew, "Everyone! Be back on the ship by nightfall. If you're not here when I'm ready to leave, you get left behind. And keep your mouths shut!"

The men started to stream off the Jolly, save the few who would have to stay behind at first to keep watch, no doubt already drunk with anticipation. The tavern keepers and the whores would do a fine business even in the small amount of time Killian had granted his crew. There wouldn't be a sober one among them in less than an hour.

"Parks! You're with me."

He interrupted the purser's conversation with Wilkinson, no doubt the two had been planning whether to visit a tavern or a brothel first. He came forward at Killian's command, looking disgruntled. Parks could negotiate for the new casks, Killian was in no mood to and he was sick of the man's grousing about the expense. If he wanted to keep the cost down so badly, he could do it himself.

"Let's get this over with," Killian said, heading down the gangway and leaving the ship.

...

...

...

The hinges groaned again, and Emma looked up, expecting Fergus. The blond head appeared, but there was no smile on the normally cheerful face. One eye was blackened with a dark purple bruise, bloody and nearly swollen shut, and she blinked in shock, the book falling from her hands and clattering to the floor as she saw the tall figure behind him.

Wilkinson pushed into the brig, a large bundle under his arm and a knife in his hand.

"Make a sound, Princess, and I'll slit his throat."

She wasn't sure she was capable of any noise, her throat had gone completely dry and sudden sharp fear knifed across her heart. Wilkinson wasn't lying.

Fergus's face was completely white under the horrible bruise, as Wilkinson kicked the brig door shut.

"I know Captain Jones gave you the key. Unlock the cell."

Emma scrambled to her feet. Wilkinson was breathing hard and sweating profusely as he pressed the side of the blade against Fergus's cheek.

"No, I won't," Fergus said, voice shaking, "I won't do it."

Wilkinson's gaze flicked between them, "Sweet on her, aren't you boy? Did the captain let you watch when he rogered her? Did he let you have a go when he was finished? I bet he did, the bastard. Wouldn't share her with the rest of us, but gave you a taste? And a tasty morsel she is."

She thought she would be sick from the vile words, if she had eaten any breakfast she was sure she would have. As it was, she had to choke down the bile while Wilkinson flipped the knife so that the sharp edge was right against Fergus's skin.

Her voice was a strangled whisper, "Unlock the cell, Fergus, do what he says."

Wilkinson smiled at her, "And you, Princess, you're sweet on him, aren't you? Jumped right off the ship to save his miserable arse, you wouldn't want to see his blood all over the floor, not after going to all that trouble."

"Don't hurt him," Emma pleaded, grabbing the bars so tight that her knuckles were white. He lifted the knife away and she saw the red mark it had left, almost but not quite breaking the skin.

"Do as I say and I won't. I'll leave that to the captain, when he gets back and discovers his boy in here instead of you."

He was here to kidnap her, Emma realized, as Fergus produced the key with shaking hands and fumbled with the lock. His eyes met hers and she saw they were brimming with tears. The boy mouthed, "I'm sorry," and she felt her heart break.

"It'll be alright," she murmured.

The door opened and she pushed Fergus behind her while Wilkinson dropped the cloth bundle, keeping his knife pointed at them while he opened it and produced two lengths of rope. He flung one at her and it fell with a thud at her feet.

"Hands behind your back, and Fergus, you tie them up."

"No!" Fergus said, clutching Emma's arm.

She did as instructed, wishing she still had her own dagger. Emma had never deliberately tried to hurt anyone, but if she'd had the blade, she would stab Wilkinson right in the face with it.

"Tell him, Princess."

Emma looked over her shoulder at Fergus. Wilkinson wanted her, and if he wanted to get her off the ship, he couldn't injure her, or at least not badly. But he could hurt Fergus even more than a black eye, he could kill him, and he was right, she couldn't bear to see that happen.

"Do it," she urged.

The rope was wrapped around her wrists and she felt Fergus tying it in place. Wilkinson watched, a pleased half smile on his face that made fear run right down her spine and her knees almost gave out. He crooked his finger at her, "Now come here."

Emma forced herself to move, taking a step outside the cell. Wilkinson grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her forward roughly, shoving the cell door closed and turning the key, leaving Fergus locked in. He pulled the key out and tossed it aside.

She could hear Fergus crying as Wilkinson knelt down, tying the other rope around her legs, just above her ankles. She could feel her own tears pricking behind her eyes but she willed them not to fall. Wilkinson stood up, standing so close he was almost touching her, a leer on his face as he looked her up and down that made her stomach drop.

"Well well," he said, reaching up and poking at her neck, "The captain got a little rough. Probably bit you all over. Bet you liked it, didn't you sweetheart?"

Emma felt herself flush hotly, remembering the marks on her throat that Wilkinson was now examining with that disgusting smile on his face. He leaned down and gave a long slow lick up her neck that had her shuddering in disgust.

"Can't wait for my taste," he breathed wetly into her ear, and his knife be damned, she was going to start screaming, there had to be someone around to stop him, Keswick, Doyle, anybody.

As if he could hear her thoughts he pulled out a long strip of cloth and gagged her with it, forcing her mouth open and tying it tight behind her head. She felt him try to pull her hands apart, testing the knot Fergus had tied, and then he unfurled the bundle he'd had under his arm, revealing a large piece of sailcloth. He draped it over her head, covering her whole body and wrapping it around her. Emma was shaking in fear as she was lifted up and she fell forwards, feeling his shoulder against her stomach as the ground dropped from under her feet.

"The captain's going to kill you!" she heard Fergus call.

Wilkinson chuckled, "He'll be plenty mad, I'm sure. But I'll be long gone and the only one who he'll get to take it out on is you, boy. Jones will tan your hide when he gets back."

Fergus started to scream out and she willed for someone to hear as she felt Wilkinson move, his arm slung over her and holding her on his shoulder. There was the squeak of the brig door opening and closing and Fergus was abruptly cut off, the thick wood muffling the sound and she knew there was no way anyone on the ship would hear him unless they came right by the door.

There had to be someone around, it couldn't be possible for him to get her off the ship without anyone seeing him.

If Captain Jones was here he would stop Wilkinson, he would pull her away and not let the crewman anywhere near her, just like he had done when he had first come too close.

But the captain wasn't on the ship, and somehow Emma knew the second Wilkinson carried her off the Jolly Roger, sensing a change in the heavy footfalls as he landed on the dock. She was away from the safety of Captain Jones's protection and she was in serious trouble. She started to struggle, trying to kick her feet free and biting helplessly at the gag, her own scream caught in her throat. But she was held fast by the rope and heavy cloth, and all she could feel was fear, cold and choking, fear of what she knew Wilkinson had in store for her when he had her alone, she had never been so afraid, not when she had threatened to jump off her ship, not when she had entered Captain Jones's cabin for the first time or felt the ocean trying to pull her under when she had flung herself in after Fergus.

But just behind the fear was something else, a sudden, white-hot burst of anger that ran through her, remembering Fergus's bruised and battered face from where Wilkinson had no doubt struck him, a wave of rage at his revolting touch on her skin and his disgusting words.

She held on to that fury as he carried her away.


	12. Fight or Flight

**Chapter Twelve: Fight or Flight**

Killian was sure of one thing, someone was going to die for this.

It might well be his second mate. Keswick had been left in charge of the Jolly, to guard the ship and it's precious cargo in his absence, but the lure of the port had proved too much. Killian had returned to discover him bedding a woman in his quarters, completely unaware that the princess had been stolen out from under his nose.

_Gone. She was gone._

He dragged Keswick out onto the deck, bare-arsed and clad only in his shirt, throwing him down onto the planks and giving him a vicious kick to the ribs. He curled up into a ball at the blow, whimpering and pleading for Killian's mercy. He had none to give, not for this, and his voice was as harsh as the strike of his boot.

"That desperate for a pair of tits and a damp quim that you couldn't wait one hour to dip your wick? While you were ignoring your duties and rutting away down below, she was taken! Stolen right off the ship, you bloody fool!"

Killian was vaguely aware that Keswick's bedmate had come up on deck and was wailing and crying behind his back. She had been stunned into silence when Killian had stormed into the cabin and lifted Keswick off of her, interrupting them mid-romp, but she seemed to have recovered her voice. If she was lucky she would have recovered her clothes as well because if she hadn't, she wasn't getting a chance to go back and retrieve them. Killian pointed without looking, "Get her off my ship now," he bit out, and Smee scrambled over to fulfill the order.

The woman was hustled down the gangway and deposited on the dock, her high-pitched shrieks making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Did Princess Emma wail and cry when she was dragged off with no one around to hear her?

Killian kicked the man again, checking his force because he would need Keswick to join in the search. Otherwise, he would have broken all of his ribs for his transgression.

"Captain, I'm sorry, please sir, it will never happen again."

If he didn't stop talking, Killian was going to knock out all his teeth, "Get dressed. We shall discuss your punishment later."

If the princess was dead, Keswick would die as well. Slowly.

His shoulders sagged at the thought. She couldn't be dead.

_She was gone._

He whirled around, leaving Keswick to crawl painfully back to his cabin, and headed for the ladder to his quarters. Fergus was waiting in a miserable heap on the floor with his black eye and a broken heart.

"Tell me everything," Killian said, pulling the cabin boy to his feet and bending down so that their faces were level. Fergus had been hysterical when he found the lad locked in the princess's cell, screaming that Wilkinson had taken her, and his blood had run absolutely cold at the words. He knew the man was trouble, he'd known it from the start, but he'd never imagined that he would dare to try anything like this.

Fergus began to talk, hiccuping and tripping over his words as he described Wilkinson cornering him below decks, hitting him in the face and forcing him to the brig at knifepoint.

"He ordered me to unlock the cell, he said he'd slit my throat, and I wasn't going to, I swear Captain, I would never disobey your orders, but the princess, she said I had to do what he said."

Killian's hand clenched at his side. Wilkinson had forced Princess Emma to cooperate with his threats against the lad. Risking her own safety for Fergus, as she'd done when she saved him from drowning. The boy said she put herself in between him and Wilkinson, and something inside Killian cracked and bled as he heard her voice in his head, knowing what she would say if he asked her why.

_"It was the honourable thing to do."_

She was honourable. Wilkinson wasn't. He was going to hurt her, Killian had no doubt of that. The only question was, how far would he go before Killian was able to find her?

When Fergus recounted Wilkinson licking her neck and crowing about having a taste of her, black spots swam in front of his eyes and he felt himself actually get light headed he was so angry.

Fergus's face was stained with tears and he wiped his nose on his sleeve, "I'm sorry, it's all my fault, Captain, I never should have opened the door and now she's gone!"

_She was gone._

"It's not your fault, Fergus," Killian said, looking up and staring at the wall behind him.

It was his. He should have posted armed guards outside the brig, he should have kicked Wilkinson off the ship the first time he hadn't followed orders, he never should have left her alone and unprotected. Anything that happened to her now was his fault and his alone.

The last time he had felt this helpless, Liam had been lying dead in his arms. It was a feeling he had never wanted to experience again, and it was back and magnified a hundredfold. His brother had gone where he couldn't follow, but at least he had been free of the pain and suffering of this world. The princess was now in the hands of a man who would take great delight in her torment and it was all Killian's fault.

"You alright there, lad?" he asked, swiping the pad of his thumb under the bruise on Fergus's face, "He will pay for this."

He would pay and he would pay dearly.

"I'm fine," Fergus insisted, "You'll find her, won't you Captain?"

The hopeful smile on his face despite the dried blood and purple skin twisted the knife in Killian's gut a little more.

"Aye," he said, "Now go put some salve on your face and get cleaned up. When she comes back she won't be best pleased if she sees you looking like this. And we don't want that now, do we? Go on."

Fergus nodded and went to the door. When he was gone, Killian braced his hands on his desk and dropped his head, breathing heavily. Wilkinson must have been behind the sabotage of the ship's water supply, a clever ploy to force them to land and give him an opportunity to snatch her away.

He flung open a drawer and pulled out a large knife in a leather sheath. Killian drew the blade and tested it against his thumb. Sharp and ready. Fergus was responsible for keeping his weapons cleaned and honed, and while the cabin boy had been neglectful of his duties recently while he waited on the princess, he had not shirked this one.

The sheath was attached to his belt, opposite his sword. He grabbed a pouch of coins, in case he needed to grease any palms for information, and pounded up the ladder to the deck.

Killian climbed onto a crate, holding onto the lines with one hand. The men who had remained on the ship looked up at him. Keswick had an arm wrapped around his middle, hunched over in pain. He grit his teeth at the sight of him and surveyed the other faces. Someone was missing. He ticked names off on the roster in his head and realized, where the devil was Parks? He had returned to the ship with him after their purchase of the new casks and had gone to fetch Smee from where he could always be found in port, the closest tavern, after Killian had discovered Fergus instead of the princess in the brig. He realized that the purser had not come back with the first mate, he must have stayed to have a drink. He had picked a bloody fine time to wet his whistle, and Killian would have to deal with him as well, later. He raised his head and addressed the rest,

"It seems a member of my crew had made the fatal error of stealing from me. As you have no doubt heard, Wilkinson has taken the lady. Go, find the rest of the crew, get everyone and turn this bloody village upside down if you have to,"

His voice was a lash, whipping across the deck and rough with his fury.

"Find her and bring her back, but she is not to be harmed or otherwise interfered with, that's an order! I will generously reward whoever returns her to me. Now, as for the bastard who took her, I want Wilkinson alive, but everything else is optional. Drag him back by the balls if you have to, I don't care. Ten gold pieces for his miserable arse back on the ship. Now go!"

There were calls of, "Aye Captain!" and the men headed out. Smee would remain on the ship to watch it, Killian jumped down from the crate and landed next to his first mate.

"If he's smart, he'll have hightailed it right out of town immediately."

"If being the operative word," Killian growled. Smee was right, Wilkinson had to know he would come after him, and his best bet would be to put as much distance as he possibly could between them and the ship. If he was on the move, he would have to wait to do what he wanted with Princess Emma. It was a thin hope but it was all he had at the moment so he clung to it.

"I'll keep watch sir, go find the traitorous swine," Smee said. His first mate could sometimes be a thorn in his side, but the man was unquestionably loyal to him. Killian knew he wouldn't abandon his post, unlike some of his wretched crew.

"I will, Mr. Smee, you can be sure of it."

Killian had two thoughts in his head as he eyed the area around the docks and the parts of the village he could see from his vantage point on the Jolly.

First, he would find Princess Emma, alive and unharmed, no matter what it took. If he had to tear the whole village apart in the process, he would.

_She was gone, but he was going to get her back._

Second, Stephen Wilkinson was a dead man. From the moment he had laid a hand on the princess, every breath he had drawn was numbered.

Killian left the ship.

The countdown had begun.

...

...

...

She was going to suffocate. The cloth pressed across her face, covering her mouth and nose and letting in very little precious air. Emma thrashed around, frantically trying to free herself before she fainted.

Wilkinson had set her down on something hard and flat, and as she finally worked her way free of the sailcloth he had trussed her up in, her nose was filled with the earthy scents of horses and hay. She tossed her head, trying to get the sweat-soaked strands of hair out of her eyes, and saw that she was in a stable. A few large heads had poked out of the stalls, watching her with their liquid eyes, flaring their noses and giving soft nickers.

Emma struggled to sit up on the hard-packed dirt floor, her hands and feet still bound and the gag still in her mouth. She looked around frantically for someone to help her, but there was no one but her odious kidnapper.

A large bay mare was tethered in the aisle, standing placid and calm while Wilkinson struggled to hitch her to a battered old wagon. He swore as he fiddled with the harness, trying and failing to make sense of the buckles and straps.

"Not the fancy carriage you're used to, I'm sure, but it'll get us away from Jones."

Emma's head jerked up. Wilkinson was looking at her, smiling and clearly pleased with himself. He licked his lips, turning away from the wagon and taking a step towards her, speaking in a low voice.

"Take the road out of town, travel until nightfall and then stop someplace nice and quiet, and finally get a chance to slide between those pretty white thighs of yours and have what the captain got every night. My turn now, sweetheart."

She had known that he wanted that from her, but somehow actually hearing the words was a thousand times worse. It was really going to happen, he was going to take her away and force her to submit to him. Her heart was pounding so hard in fright that she could hear it roaring in her ears, and as he came closer she tried desperately to shuffle backwards away from him.

Wilkinson crouched down and ran a hand up her arm, his fingers sweeping over her collarbone. The touch was almost enough to make her retch, and she bit down hard on the gag. He undid the top button of her shirt and started to slide his hand in, and she reacted instinctively, kicking out with her bound feet. She caught him in the thigh and he let out a startled yell, almost falling over. Wilkinson grabbed her face with one hand, his fingers digging painfully into her jaw, and he leaned in close enough for her to smell his fetid breath.

"I wouldn't do that, if I was you," he hissed, and his other hand suddenly covered her breast, squeezing it roughly through her clothes. No one had ever dared to try such a thing, they would have been hung for it in her kingdom, and she was hit with another wave of fear and anger as she tried to twist away from him.

A sound from outside made both their heads turn and Wilkinson stood up, heading for the stable door. The hot tears burned behind Emma's eyes but she couldn't give in to them, she had to find a way to escape. After all she had been through already, she couldn't stop fighting now. She felt just as helpless as she had when her ship was taken and her people threatened, but even in that seemingly impossible situation, she had found a way to save them. There had to be a way to save herself, she just had to find it.

She would find it or she would die trying before she let him touch her again.

Something Captain Jones had said ran through her mind, _"You find what you can and you use it. I've seen you do it, Princess, and trust me, there's plenty who can't"_

Wilkinson was listening at the stable door and Emma saw him ease it open and peer out, obviously checking if anyone was near. While he was occupied, she looked around frantically for anything she might be able to use as a weapon. The stable wasn't very large, a few stalls and an open hayloft above, and nothing looked particularly useful. Water buckets, a few horse blankets folded on a bench, bridles and reins hanging from pegs, a wheelbarrow piled high with hay.

She stared at the item propped on the wall next to the barrow. A pitchfork, large and heavy looking, no doubt used to toss the feed to the horses. But with her hands and feet tied, she couldn't get to it. Emma rubbed her hands together, trying to pull against the rope. It scraped and burned against her wrists, but the knot held fast. Of course it did, she had seen Fergus tie knots before, his nimble fingers were particularly adept at the task.

Fergus.

_Fergus!_

Fergus had tied her hands. Fergus had shown her how to tie knots, on one sun-filled afternoon up on the deck. All kinds of different knots, inducing one that could be released with a single pull, if you knew which end to tug on. Had he remembered giving her that lesson and used that knot, giving her the only chance he could?

Wilkinson shut the stable door and went back to the horse, muttering, "Tom doesn't show up soon, I'm leaving without him. If he couldn't give Jones the slip, that's his problem. Buggering hell, how does this thing work?"

He shoved the wagon, making it roll forward and bump into the mare's rump. She let out a whinney and started to sidestep nervously, her ears twitching and tossing her head.

While he tried to calm the horse, Emma twisted her hands, fingers searching for the end of the rope. It slipped out of her grasp, and she kept a wary eye on Wilkinson as she strained to reach it.

Hoping against hope, she finally managed to get it, the rope fell into her palm and she closed her fingers around it and pulled with all her might. It went slack immediately, falling off her wrists as the knot unravelled. Wilkinson was still trying to figure out how to hitch up the wagon, his back to her, and Emma went for the rope around her legs. She pushed it down and managed to untangle her feet. For a moment she froze. Could she really do this? She could still feel his hand on her, that painful squeeze promising more to come.

_"Remember what will happen if you don't. Go, now!"_

She sprang to her feet and went for the pitchfork, almost slamming into the wall as she threw herself towards it. The wood handle was rubbed smooth and the iron tines were as heavy as they looked. Wilkinson turned at the noise and before she could even think about what she was doing, Emma hit him, getting him in his side. He stumbled back against the wagon, eyes bulging in surprise, and she took another swing, knocking him on the side of his head. Her arms felt like they were going to fall off from the force of the blow and the handle slipped from her hands, the makeshift club falling to the ground. Wilkinson was down, blood on his face, wet and red, and whether he was dead or alive she didn't know and she wasn't going to wait around to find out. The horse reared, neighing in panic, hooves slashing the air, and Emma ran. She pulled the stable door open and dashed outside.

Yanking the gag out of her mouth, she saw a small field and beyond that, woods. The trees were tall and thick, and there was no way Wilkinson would be able to track her through them, she was Snow White's daughter. If there was one thing her mother had taught her, it was how to hide in the forest.

As she passed through the treeline, she looked over her shoulder. The stable door was hanging open, but there was no sign of Wilkinson. Emma darted behind a large oak, her legs burning from the sudden sprint, breathing hard and fast, and something suddenly dawned on her.

_Free. She was free._


	13. Choices

**Author: All of you who are keeping up with this, thank you! It means the world to me.**

**Chapter Thirteen: Choices**

As the minutes turned into hours, Killian struggled to hold on to the hope that the princess would be found alive and well. His men had combed the docks and heard from several people that they had seen a man matching Wilkinson's description carrying a large bundle of sailcloth over his shoulder. It matched with what Fergus had said, that Wilkinson had wrapped her up before taking her away. But none had found the sight particularly interesting and paid attention to the direction he went.

They checked every room in the village's single inn, must to the consternation of the innkeeper. He followed behind, swearing loudly at Killian and his men as they climbed the stairs and started pounding on doors. Ignoring his protests about disturbing his patrons, they shoved their way into each chamber. If the occupants didn't answer their knocks, they kicked the doors open, splintering wood under their boots. His yelling grew louder with each one, and when they found no sign of Wilkinson or the princess and left his establishment, he trailed after them to the door, face purple as he huffed, "I told you, no sailors showed up today. Now get out of here, you no good pirates! You broke three of my doors, who's going to pay for that?"

"Here," Killian snapped, turning back and passing him more than enough coins to cover the damage, "Any sailors do show up, especially a brown-haired one, send someone straight to the docks and ask for the Jolly Roger. If it's the man I'm looking for, I'll change those to gold."

He nodded at the copper pennies as the innkeeper's mouth dropped open.

No sign of them at the inn. No sign either at the taverns that also had rooms for let. He had checked each one, hoping that he would find her and terrified that he'd find Wilkinson with her, on top of her, hurting her, those lovely green eyes dulled and filled with a darkness that was all his fault.

"Nothing, Captain," Doyle said, meeting him in the street outside the inn and gesturing to the pub he had just checked, "Fishermen all comparing the day's catch over a pint, they were on the water all day and didn't see hide nor hair of them."

"Dammit," Killian muttered, "Keep looking, leave no stone unturned. I'm going back to the ship to see if anyone's checked in with news."

Doyle nodded, "I take it we're not casting off until they're found?"

"No. Do you have an issue with that?"

He was spoiling for a fight, coiled tight and ready to unleash at the slightest provocation as he glared at the carpenter. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword and Doyle noticed, raising an eyebrow.

"I'd have an issue if we did. I'll gladly wring the bastard's neck if I find him, Killian."

The use of his first name by a member of his crew made him start in surprise and his hand clenched even more, the metal biting painfully into his palm. Had it been anyone else, it would have been a grave insult, but Doyle had been around since the old days. Killian had first met him long before he was captain, he'd been a wet-behind-the-ears junior ensign, and Doyle had been an apprentice who served with his brother. He had been glad to see the burly carpenter was still on board when he was reassigned to Liam's command on the Jewel of the Realm. In the dark days after his brother's death, Doyle's steady presence had been a welcome respite from the pain and guilt that threatened to consume him, their simple conversations about the ship had let him forget everything else for those few brief moments. Doyle had stayed on while others drifted away, content with his share of the profits and the free rein Killian gave him to design and build whatever he wanted for the ship.

Doyle spoke with his usual plain honesty, "She's a very fine lady. I've seen how nice she is to the young lad, and she's got courage. Far more than that foolish coward Stephen Wilkinson. Your brother would have liked her."

"Yes," Killian agreed, closing his eyes briefly, "Liam would've."

Liam would be furious at the thought of a lady such as Princess Emma in the hands of a man like Wilkinson.

"I'll keep looking, Captain."

Doyle set off down the street, muttering something about a four-inch nail he had set aside. Killian paused for a moment, staring at nothing, before he turned and went back to the docks. If Wilkinson wasn't holed up in some rented room, Smee was probably right, he had headed straight out of town. He had men checking the roads, fortunately the village was fairly isolated and there were only two tracks that led anywhere. A stranger like Wilkinson should stick out like a sore thumb, someone had to have seen something.

He could tell by the look on Smee's face that there was no good news when he stepped back onto the Jolly, but he also didn't have that fearful nervousness he got whenever he had to say something he knew Killian wouldn't like.

"No news, sir. We're sure he didn't get on another boat, there's none that left after this morning. He didn't try to secure passage on any, either."

Killian resisted the urge to punch something, "How did he drag her off and vanish into thin air!"

He went to the rail and surveyed the port again, debating where he should go next to look, when frantic yelling split the air.

"Captain! Captain!"

Killian felt his heart squeeze into a tight fist as he saw the figures come into view, rounding a corner and heading down the dock to the ship. Keswick and Sullivan, dragging a third man between them. His head was bowed, but he recognized him instantly.

Wilkinson.

He stormed down the gangway in a haze of rage, seeing nothing but them as he met them on the walkway.

"Was she?" he asked immediately, but Keswick shook his head.

"No Captain. Just him. Found him on the side of the west road bout a quarter mile outside of town. Think he got thrown by a horse. But she wasn't there."

Killian grabbed Wilkinson's hair and pulled his head up. One side of his face was bruised and split, the wound scabbed over but it was clear it had bled profusely. There were streaks running down his neck and dried on his shirt collar, his clothes were stained with dirt and he smelled like horse droppings.

"Where is she? What did you do to her?"

He saw Wilkinson swallow hard and Killian's eyes narrowed.

"It was all Tom's idea! It was him, Captain, he said we should claim the money for ourselves, all we had to do was get her off the ship. He said he could make us land early and we'd split things fifty-fifty."

"Tom?" Killian repeated, "Parks?"

Had the purser been involved as well? Killian hadn't seen him since he'd come back to the ship and found the princess gone. He shook his head. Even if Parks did have a hand in it, he wasn't the one who had actually taken her.

"That's not what I asked. Where. Is. She?"

Killian took a quick look around. It was dark now, and the dock was deserted, no one was around to witness or attempt to come to his crewman's aid. He drew his knife and pressed the point under Wilkinson's chin, watching his eyes go wide.

"Where'd you hide her? What did you do to her?"

Spittle flew out of his mouth at his vehemence and Wilkinson flinched as it hit him in the face. Killian could think of nothing but his worst fear, that the son of a whore had violated her and killed her when he was done. If any of his crew came back and reported finding her lifeless body, then the man in front of him would learn the true meaning of suffering.

He yanked harder on Wilkinson's hair and pressed the knife just under the man's ear, keeping it on the edge of breaking the skin. Wilkinson's eyes closed and a broken moan escaped him.

"I let her go."

"What?" Killian barked, incredulous at the words, "You let her go?"

"Tom was supposed to meet me, but he never showed, so I let her go and she took off. I swear, Captain, I didn't do nothing to her, I didn't touch her, but I don't know where she went."

He collapsed at Killian's feet. Keswick and Sullivan exchanged puzzled looks over his head.

"Was there no sign of her at all?" Killian asked them.

"No sir," Keswick said, "We looked, but it was just him."

"Did you see Tom Parks anywhere?"

Both men answered in the negative, and Killian took a step back, gesturing to the cowering heap on the dock. He didn't believe for one second that Wilkinson had let her go, it was a clear attempt to try to save his miserable skin. But even though he knew the man was lying through his teeth, some tiny part of him flared with hope that it was true.

"Get him up," he commanded, and Keswick and Sullivan each took an arm and hauled Wilkinson into a standing position.

"Here's what's going to happen," Killian began, his anger simmering in his words and threatening to boil over, "We are going on the ship, and then you will tell me the truth. You will tell me exactly where you took her, what you said to her, what you did to her, and where you left her. You are already dead, you understand, but the speed at which you depart this world depends entirely on her. If she is indeed alive and well, as you claim, then it will be fast. If she is not, then it will never end. You will die a thousand deaths at my hands, is that clear?"

Wilkinson began to scream, and Killian delivered a sharp blow to his stomach, one that would have brought him down if Keswick and Sullivan hadn't been holding him up. He began to vomit, and Killian took a quick step back to avoid getting splattered.

"That was just the beginning," he said, as Wilkinson retched and heaved, "Now get him on the ship."

They obeyed immediately. Wilkinson's legs dragged as they hauled him bodily down the dock. Killian watched them go, struggling to get himself under control. He was tempted to pull the bastard's head back again and slit his throat right down to the bone, but he couldn't. Whatever had happened to Princess Emma, he needed to know.

Even if that knowledge completely destroyed what was left of his heart.

...

...

...

She ran, going past the trees, climbing over logs, and wading through a stream to hide her trail. The forest was quiet and still, but her heart was still pounding in her ears and her breathing was so loud she was sure it could be heard for miles. When she could go no further, her legs shaking with fatigue, she found a tree with sturdy branches and thick leaves and climbed up into it.

Her elation at her escape was already fading. Emma sat on a branch with her back against the rough bark of the trunk and considered her situation. She was free, and she was deeply satisfied at how she had managed to escape Wilkinson's clutches, but she had a whole new set of problems to deal with.

The bright afternoon sun peeked through the leaves as she listened for any hint of human sounds. She was free, but she was completely alone and she had nothing with her but the clothes on her back. Emma didn't know how far away she was from her kingdom, or even what direction it was in. She had no way of paying for passage in a coach or on another ship, she had no food, and she had no protection, not a weapon to defend herself with or a cloak to keep her warm.

The irony that she had a pouch of coins and a cache of valuable gems back on the Jolly Roger was not lost on her. The money that she had won in the card game was still wrapped up in a cloth and the jewels were still hidden away in her corset, both sitting in the chest in her cell. She cursed the fact that she had stopped wearing her corset, but it had dried puckered and misshapen after it got wet and it seemed ridiculous to try to wear it under a sailor's shirt. She hardly needed to make her waist smaller, the clothes were already far too big for her.

Emma thought about her options. She could try to find someone in a position of authority, the local magistrate perhaps, and plead her case. In her silk gown and sapphires she would have been believed, but in her current bedraggled ragamuffin state they would probably think her a delusional madwoman. Could she persuade someone to send a messenger to her parents? Would her parents even believe it was her? After all, they thought she was in a completely different realm. They might dismiss the message as a trick by Regina, an attempt to draw them out.

She could follow in her mother's footsteps and turn to banditry. Steal what she needed, try to stay a step ahead of the authorities and Regina's spies, and find some way to get home.

Or she could return to his ship.

Emma buried her face in her hands. Why was she even thinking about going back? She had managed to do the impossible and escape from the pirates, walking right back into their clutches would be crazy. After what Wilkinson had tried to do to her, she should never want to see another pirate again, as long as she lived.

She still felt sick when she remembered what he had said to her, his obvious glee as he put his hands on her and told her what he planned to do. Every sound in the forest made her flinch, every snap of a twig or rustle in the bushes was him coming for her again. She kept imagining him bursting through the trees, chasing her down and throwing her to the ground, her screams echoing through the woods with no one to hear or help.

Every place that he had touched her burned. She could still feel his hand sliding up her arm, every spot on her jaw where his fingers had dug in. Her neck was long dry from where he had licked her, but somehow it still felt wet and fresh. The worst was his hand on her breast, she kept hunching her shoulders and putting her arm over it protectively, trying to make the feeling go away.

She hoped he was dead. She wished she had checked before she fled the stable, she wished she had stabbed him with the pitchfork when he'd been down and vulnerable, but she'd just had to get away. It hadn't even occurred to her to take one of the horses, she couldn't have spent another second near him.

If Wilkinson wasn't dead, she wondered where he had gone. Had he followed her into the woods and was searching for her? Had he gone back to the ship?

Emma shook her head, dismissing the thought entirely. Fergus had witnessed him taking her, there was no way Wilkinson could go back to the Jolly Roger. By now, Captain Jones had to have returned and learned what happened. Even if Wilkinson lied through his teeth, there was no way the captain would believe him over Fergus.

Fergus.

She wouldn't have escaped at all if it hadn't been for his quick thinking with the knot. If Wilkinson had taken the time to examine it properly instead of his hasty check, then he might have noticed it could be undone with one pull. And if he had, he probably would have killed him for it. She felt a rush of gratitude towards the boy. Emma wasn't blind to his infatuation with her, he blushed and stammered whenever she touched him, but that didn't mean he'd necessarily be willing to risk his neck for her. But he'd done it, and he really did have the heart of a knight.

Captain Jones must be worried. Fergus would have told him about the confrontation in the brig, Wilkinson's knife, his threats. The captain had treated her well, he wouldn't want her to be harmed. More than that, she believed that he was an honourable man, deep down inside. Underneath that hard shell, beyond the life of piracy, there was something more there. She had seen it.

It would get dark soon and she didn't know how cold the night would be. She had nothing to start a fire and she was fearful of drawing attention to herself. Emma was alone, completely alone, and she had never been alone in her entire life. She didn't know what to do, she didn't know if she could make her way home on her own. But if she went back to the Jolly Roger, Captain Jones would take her. Maybe it was only to claim a ransom, but it didn't matter. He wouldn't hurt her and he would take her home.

Emma climbed down out of the tree and started trekking through the woods again. But this time she went downhill, towards what she thought was the way to the sea. Through breaks in the trees she caught glimpses of a village, fat thatched cottages with smoke billowing through chimneys, but she skirted around them. She changed her mind twenty times along the way, at one point just sitting down on the ground and starting at nothing for an unknown length of time while she argued with herself. It was insanity to return. She should turn around and go back the other way. Even though she would never get a chance to thank Fergus.

Even though she would never see Captain Jones again if she did.

She could smell the ocean before she saw it, and heard the waves crashing on the shore. It was nearly dark and she chanced leaving the safety of the trees. The lights of the harbour guided her way, the ships and boats silhouetted against them. Emma kept to the shadows, creeping through the narrow alleys as she sought out the Jolly Roger.

When she found it, she drew back, dropping behind a stack of barrels. It was insane, he had taken her hostage, he had locked her up, she should run away and never look back.

But she didn't.

"Captain! Captain!"

Emma froze at the shouts. She heard pounding footsteps and she cautiously peered around the barrels, staying low. Three men came into view, she recognized Keswick, another crewman, and her heart jumping into her throat, Wilkinson.

The captain appeared, and even from a distance his anger was obvious. He looked utterly furious, and she saw him draw Wilkinson's head back with a painful looking grip on his hair. Emma couldn't hear everything, but she caught some of the words. Captain Jones demanded to know where she was, his voice low and rough, and something fluttered in her stomach. Wilkinson started pleading, but the captain seemed to grow more incensed. His voice grew louder, and he pulled a knife and held it to Wilkinson's throat.

Emma couldn't move, wondering if he was going to kill the man on the spot. He looked ready to, when she heard Wilkinson try to claim that he had released her. She wanted to jump to her feet and storm over, stunned by his bold faced lie, but she forced herself to remain still.

"You will die a thousand deaths at my hand, is that clear?"

She closed her eyes and sagged back slightly at the captain's threat. He meant every word, she could hear the utter sincerity in his voice. There was a scream, and the heavy sound of a blow. Emma heard him order his men to take Wilkinson on to the ship, and she opened her eyes and looked around the barrels again.

Captain Jones was standing on the dock, a look of utter despair on his face. Emma knew that look was for her.

Her choice was clear.


	14. Promises

**Author: This is long and there's a bit of smut, you have been warned!**

**Chapter Fourteen: Promises**

Emma stood up and stepped around the barrels she'd been hiding behind. The clap of her boots on the dock was unnaturally loud to her ears.

Captain Jones turned immediately at the sound, his knife still grasped tight in his hand. At the sight of her it fell to the planks with a clatter. He looked absolutely stunned, and Emma walked towards him, hoping desperately that she had made the right decision.

"Princess?" he breathed, staring at her like he couldn't believe she was real, "How?"

"I escaped."

Both eyebrows rose, surprise clear on his face as he repeated, "You escaped?"

_The frantic fumbling with the rope, scrambling across the dirt floor, the wood in her hands and the sickening sound of metal on flesh, the bloom of blood, as red as an apple._

Emma awkwardly scratched at her wrists, "I hit him with a pitchfork."

Captain Jones smiled, "Of course you did. I haven't the foggiest notion of where you managed to acquire a pitchfork, but the fact that you did, and you used it to escape, doesn't surprise me in the slightest."

Emma managed a slight smile of her own. The captain took a step forward, narrowing the gap between them.

"But it does surprise me to see you here. If you escaped, why did you come back?"

That was the question she kept asking herself.

"You said," she started, looking up into his eyes. She stopped and swallowed hard before continuing on, "You said you would give me a prize, whatever I wanted. You said you would give me anything I asked for."

"I did," Captain Jones said quietly, "I will give you anything you want."

"I want to go home! I want to see my parents again, I miss them so much, and I don't know how to get there, but I just want to go back, and I will make sure you get your ransom, I promise, all the gold you could possibly want, but please, Captain, just take me home."

The words came out of her in a great big rush, she got them out as fast as possible. She had to, since on the heels of her plea, the tears she had been holding back all day finally spilled over. Fat drops rolled down her cheeks and fell to the dock, her voice was gone as great wracking sobs welled up in her chest and tore from her throat. Emma couldn't even see, she was crying so hard, but she heard his footsteps and then his arms were around her. She groped blindly, finding the lapels of his coat, and she grabbed them and held on as tight as she could, laying her head against his chest.

"I swear to you Princess, I will bring you home. You will see you parents again, you have my word."

Emma felt a great wash of relief. She could hear the honesty, there was no hint of a lie in his words, but it didn't stop her crying. If anything, she starting sobbing harder, shaking and trembling from the sheer force of it. Her breath hitched and caught, she wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn't speak.

She thought she heard the captain whisper, "I'm sorry," and then she felt him shift. He lifted her up, one arm around her waist and the other under her knees, and she didn't struggle or fight, she just wrapped her arms around his neck and turned her face into his shoulder, letting him carry her back onto the Jolly Roger.

Startled yells greeted their appearance, a rush of voices all talking over each other and coming closer, and Emma shrank into the captain even more, keeping her face turned towards him and her eyes closed, not wanting to look at anyone. She felt him tighten his arms, and then his voice rang out, the command silencing everyone at once.

"Back off, all of you. No one goes near her! And get him out of my sight right now!"

She heard Wilkinson's voice, "Captain, whatever she says, I swear, I didn't touch her, I..."

She heard a scuffle and a thump, and someone threatened, "Open your mouth again and I'll shove my boot into it and make you swallow it."

"Thank you, Mr. Smee," Captain Jones said.

"Apologies, sir, for not having him gagged immediately. You'll speak to the captain only when spoken to, you hear? Now come on, you stupid bastard."

Footsteps shuffled away and Captain Jones turned, still holding her in his arms. He carried her down into the ship, she felt him carefully navigate the stairs and fumble with a door. Her sobs had faded into hiccups. He set her down in a sitting position and she finally opened her eyes. They were in his quarters and she was seated on the chair she had come to think of as hers. The captain stood in front of her, rummaging in the pockets of his coat. He came up with a white handkerchief, a large square with KJ embroidered on it, and handed it to her. Emma dabbed at her eyes, feeling a hint of amusement at the fierce pirate captain who carried monogrammed linen like a gentleman.

When she dropped her hands back down into her lap he crouched down and grasped them both in his own large ones. Emma looked down and saw the rope burns on her wrists, and he trailed a finger over the lines.

"Did he hurt you?"

There were many shades of meaning in the question. Aside from the minor abrasions, she wasn't injured. But he had hurt her. She closed her eyes and it flashed behind her lids, she could still feel his hands on her. The tears started to prick and burn again, and she rubbed at her eyes with one hand while her other arm folded protectively over her breast.

When she looked up she saw Captain Jones staring at her. His jaw was set and there were two spots of colour high on his cheeks, a bright red flush of anger.

"Princess, please tell me."

"He...he was going to hurt me. But I got away before he could...he could..."

She couldn't say it.

The captain's head dropped. When he spoke his voice was thick and unsteady, "No one on my crew will ever lay a hand on you again. As the captain, I offer my apology for his actions and my assurance that nothing will happen to you on my ship."

Emma felt touched by the words and the obvious feeling behind them. He wasn't just paying lip service, he meant it, and she felt herself relax a fraction.

There was a knock at the door and he rose, standing in between her and it.

"What?" he demanded, his voice changing immediately into the tone of absolute authority.

"Uh, Captain? I know you said no one was to come near…"

His voice softened when he heard who it was, "Not you Fergus, I didn't mean you."

She was on her feet instantly, meeting him halfway across the room. Emma flung her arms around him, hugging him tight.

"Princess!"

A laugh bubbled out of her, a sudden burst of absolute joy and she exclaimed, "The knot!"

"It worked? You remembered?"

Emma pulled back, cupping his face in her hands, "Yes, I remembered. That was so clever of you, Fergus."

"What's this?" Captain Jones asked.

Emma explained about the knot and how Fergus had tied it so that she could undo it, giving her the chance to escape. She pulled the boy towards her and kissed him on the forehead, "I couldn't have done it if it hadn't been for you. Thank you."

Captain Jones looked from her to Fergus as he digested the words, "Well," he said after a moment, "I promised a generous reward for your safe return, and it seems, Fergus, that you are the one who earned it. Name your prize and it will be yours."

Fergus chewed on his bottom lip, obviously thinking about it. His face brightened.

"A proper sword of my own, Captain? Like yours?"

Captain Jones nodded, "If that's what you want, I shall see to it. You will have a fine new sword, and we will continue our lessons so you learn how to properly wield it."

He put his hands on Fergus's shoulders, "I knew I made a good choice when I asked you to join my crew. Thank you lad."

Fergus beamed under the praise and Captain Jones smiled fondly at him. He clapped him on the back and turned back to Emma.

"Now," he said, "It has been a long day. Princess, are you hungry?"

Emma pressed a hand to her stomach. She'd had nothing to eat all day and there was a dull ache of hunger that she'd been too distracted to notice until he mentioned it. In the safety of his quarters, she suddenly felt bone weary. Her feet were blistered and sore from her flight in the woods, her hair was tangled, her clothes were dirty and the rough fabric rubbed uncomfortably on her skin. She wanted food and she wanted a bath.

"Yes," she answered, "I am, but I also want to wash."

Captain Jones nodded, "Of course. Fergus, go to the galley. Bring the princess some dinner, and order a cauldron of water to be heated."

"Aye, Captain," he said, "Princess? I'm glad you're back."

The bruise around his eye was fading from purple to yellow, and Emma made a note to look at it in the morning under better light, "So am I," she said.

When he was gone she sat back down. Her eyes felt dry and gritty after crying so hard and her temples were pounding. She rubbed at them, trying to ease the tension. She wanted to lie down and go to sleep, but she couldn't with the feel of Wilkinson's hands on her.

"Where is he?" she asked quietly. She never wanted to see him again.

"In the brig," Captain Jones replied, "You'll not encounter him again, he's staying there until we're out to sea and I can deal with him properly."

Emma shivered slightly. The captain was going to kill him, she was certain. She didn't know how she felt about that.

"The brig?" she repeated, looking up at him.

"I shall go fetch your things for you. You'll stay here from now on."

She blinked at that. Emma gave him a questioning look, and he reached up and scratched behind his ear.

"I am reluctant to let you out of my sight, Princess. But if you prefer, you may have Keswick's cabin, as he is no longer afforded the privilege of private quarters."

His quarters had become familiar, the small room somehow comforting and safe. She didn't think she'd feel that way in Keswick's cabin. If she was honest with herself, she didn't really want to let him out of her sight either.

She shook her head, "Here," she said quietly.

Fergus returned with a bowl of stew and some bread, which she ate without tasting while the captain supervised the arrangements for her bath. Emma had expected a simple basin, but a copper hip bath was brought into the cabin and set up in a corner. It was filled from buckets of steaming hot water carried in by hand.

He left long enough to get the chest that held her few possessions, returning quickly and setting it on the table.

"I'll be on deck," he said.

Emma retrieved her cake of soap and went over to the tub, dipping her finger into it. The water was hot, too hot, but she didn't care. She stripped off her clothes and climbed in. The heat made her gasp, but she tucked her knees to her chest and sat down, covering as much of her body as she could. It felt like she was melting, the sensation was almost too much, but she'd rather burn her skin off then feel his hands on her anymore. She took the rough sponge and scrubbed, rubbing it on her arm, her neck, her chest and anywhere she felt the ghost of his touch until the soap was completely gone.

Feeling slightly better now that she was clean, she stood up carefully and wrapped the towel around her. The pile of dirty clothes on the floor made her wrinkle her nose, she didn't want to wear them again. Emma retrieved the spare shirt she had been given and slipped it over her head. It covered her to mid-thigh and she frowned at her bare legs.

The captain's wardrobe was shut and she opened the doors, hoping he wouldn't mind. She found the robe she had worn the day she jumped off the ship and ruined her dress, and she pulled it out. Emma didn't think he'd object if she borrowed it again. Tying the belt tight, she felt decently covered and she sat down on the edge of his bed.

Some part of her railed at the sheer impropriety of climbing into a man's bed, but she was too exhausted to argue with herself about it. She'd slept in his bed before, when she had fallen asleep waiting for him to return from King George's ship she'd woken up in it with a hazy memory of him lifting her up and tucking her in. The mattress was much softer than the hard cot in the brig, and before she fully realized what she was doing, Emma lay down and closed her eyes.

_She was in the forest again, but it was dark, no stars, no moon to guide her and she ran blindly. Wilkinson was behind each tree, reaching out for her as she passed, catching her sleeve, laughing as she tried to pull away. Emma tried to scream, but no sound came out._

_Suddenly it wasn't Wilkinson lurking in the dark, it was Regina. The trees were apple trees, the branches twisted and gnarled limbs that caught her clothes and her hair, the red fruit falling at her feet and making her stumble and trip. She was on the ground, scrambling in the dirt and trying to stand up. The queen loomed over her, smiling with blood red lips as she held up what looked like another apple. She dropped it next to Emma's head, and she saw it wasn't an apple, it was a heart, bright red and still beating._

_"Snow White's," the evil woman cackled, her long white hand reaching out. Emma was lying on her back, frozen, unable to move as the hand plunged into her chest. Regina was laughing in triumph and Emma was screaming from the pain, her back arching upwards and her hands clawing desperately in the dirt as she was torn open. She felt the fingers curl around her own heart, and the pain was white-hot and blinding as the queen started to pull._

_"Your turn," Regina sang, dark eyes flashing, and Emma turned her head, staring at her mother's heart on the ground. As she watched it ceased to beat and slowly turned black._

Emma woke up, the scream still on her lips as she thrashed around. She collided with something solid and warm.

"Shh, you're having a nightmare. It's just a dream, he can't hurt you, I won't let him."

Captain Jones. Emma registered that he was in the bed with her as his arms wrapped around her. His chest was bare and she was overwhelmed by the feeling of so much skin. One hand rubbed her back and he murmured into her hair, soothing her with his reassurances that it was only a dream. It had felt so real, she was afraid to open her eyes and see a gaping hole in her chest, her heart gone. But she could feel it beating, or maybe that was his heart, she was pressed against him so tightly that she couldn't tell the two apart.

Either way, the steady beat between them and the sound of his voice calmed her down. The nightmare started to recede, and Emma felt herself start to drift off again, settling her head on his shoulder.

It was just a dream.

...

...

...

Killian was awake, but he kept his eyes closed and lay as still as possible. Soft hands were gently wandering over his face, and he was afraid to do anything that would break whatever spell they were under. He felt her smooth his hair back from his forehead and dance lightly over his brow, trail down his cheeks and brush her fingers against his lips. He resisted the urge to kiss them, and they kept moving, down his chin, over his neck. The charms on his necklace jangled when she touched the chain, and her fingers stopped for a moment. Killian exhaled softly, eyes still closed, and she continued on. Her hands trailed down to his shoulders, her nails gently scoring his skin. She explored the hair on his chest, rubbing slightly, and it was all he could do not to groan out loud. It was torture of the most delicious kind. He had never considered himself a particularly patient man, especially with a beautiful woman in his bed, but he was willing to lie still all day and let her do whatever she wanted to him.

The hands stopped again, "I know you're awake," she whispered.

"There's not a man alive who could sleep through that, Princess," he replied.

"I'm sorry."

"That wasn't a complaint."

Killian opened his eyes and turned his head. She was lying on her side, watching him. He reached for the hand on his chest and lifted it to his mouth, kissing her palm. The rope burns around her wrist had faded slightly and he traced the lines again, but this time with his lips. He wished he could make them go away. The princess's eyes closed and her chest heaved with a sudden deep breath. He set her hand back down over his heart.

"Keep going," he whispered.

She splayed her fingers open, spanning the width of his chest as far as she could reach. Her eyes opened and she looked at him before quickly looking down. Killian sensed it might be easier for her if he wasn't watching, so he turned his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes. The gentle exploration started again, fingers trailing down his breastbone. She traced a rib and he smiled, trying not to laugh at the tickling sensation.

The fact that she was touching him at all was a miracle he marvelled at. She was alive, and she had come back to his ship, to _him_. He had returned to his quarters the night before and found her asleep in his bed, safe. It had finally felt real and the hours of worry and fear melted into staggering relief. Killian had intended to have a cot brought to his cabin for him to sleep on while she would have the bed, but he wouldn't disturb her rest, he had seen how tired she was. He had changed as quickly and as quietly as he could, shucking off his boots and leather trousers for the pants he wore to bed, standing behind the wardrobe door so it would block her view if she woke up. He was hardly modest, but after what she had just gone through he didn't want to cause her any further anxiety. Killian had laid aside his shirt and took a spare blanket, settling down in a chair and draping it over him.

He had dozed off into an uncomfortable half-sleep when he heard the sounds of her nightmare. She had been flailing around, eyes screwed shut while she cried out and he had laid down next to her, pulling her close and trying to offer what comfort he could. He cursed that bastard Wilkinson while he rubbed her back and promised he wouldn't let the man hurt her again. She had quieted down in his arms, the frantic heartbeat he could feel against his chest returning to a normal pace. Killian intended to go back to the chair when she fell back asleep, but she had put her head on his shoulder, her body tucked up against his, and he could bear to leave her.

Princess Emma's hand grazed his stomach, and the muscles contracted instantly at her touch. If she went any lower down she was going to severely test the limits of his self control. His arousal was hidden under the blanket, or at least he hoped it was. Killian forced himself keep still while instinct screamed at him, ready to take her hand and place it where he was aching for her. He fisted his hand in the blanket and fought the urge.

"Captain!"

The call from above decks made them both freeze. Killian's eyes flew open and he glared at the ceiling.

"Not now!"

The princess pulled back and he followed, rolling onto his side. He ran his hand down the side of her face, "There's no need to wait until I'm asleep, if you want to touch me you have only to ask. And I told you, I will give you anything you ask me for."

The voice came again, "Captain!" more insistent, accompanied by the hatch cover rattling.

"I said not now!" he yelled back, "Unless we're sinking or the ship is on fire, I am not to be disturbed!"

"Maybe it is on fire," she said as several voices could be heard, obviously arguing.

"Then let it burn."

He leaned forward, his lips a hairsbreadth from hers, "Touch me anywhere you want."

The sound of the hatch cover opening made his blood boil, and not in the same way Princess Emma's soft hands had. Killian jumped out of bed and yanked the blankets over her, making sure she was covered. He turned, ready to throttle whoever had dared to enter his quarters without permission.

The rotund harbourmaster climbed down the ladder, followed by Smee, "He was rather adamant to speak with you, sir," his first mate explained, and Killian saw his eyes flick over to the bed.

"Out!" Killian ordered, and Smee scrambled back up to the deck.

The harbourmaster folded his arms across his chest and glared, "Captain Jones, I am here to address several complaints that have been made about your crew's behaviour yesterday. They caused a ruckus in every tavern, broke down doors in the inn, apparently conducted some type of search, although what right they thought they had to search residents of my village is beyond me, and I demand an explanation!"

"They were looking for me."

The princess had sat up, sitting on the edge of the bed with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The man gaped at her, obviously he hadn't noticed she was in the room.

"The captain and I quarreled and I'm afraid I ran off rather impulsively. The crew came looking for me."

She gave a smile of pure innocence that seemed to completely flummox the harbourmaster. Killian covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile.

"Really Captain?" he said, looking back at Killian, "All that over a fight with your doxy?"

He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and hauled him forward, "I'm sorry, I must have misheard you, since you certainly didn't just step foot on _my_ ship without _my_ permission to insult _my lady_? Did you?"

Killian raised his eyebrows and sweat broke out the harbourmaster's forehead as he obviously realized he was treading in dangerous waters. His tongue darted out and he licked his lips nervously.

"Not at all. Uh, I am sure your crew will cause no further trouble, so I shall take my leave now, Captain, and Mistress Jones."

He let go of the man and he gave a flustered little bow in the princess's direction before heading up the ladder. The hatch closed after him.

"Quick thinking that," Killian said, glancing over at her and unable to resist, "Mistress Jones."

She looked away, pulling the blanket a little tighter around her.

"Well, you did say once I was more than just a pretty face, Captain."

He'd said it, but he'd had no idea then just how true it was.

There was no point in keeping her hidden from view any more. She'd come back on her own, she obviously wasn't going to attempt an escape or reveal her true identity. Killian decided to take her into the village and find some decent clothes for her to wear. They would stay docked for one more day, he had time.

Tom Parks had disappeared. Wilkinson was a liar, but Killian suspected he had been truthful about the purser's involvement. Otherwise, why hadn't he come back to the ship? He could easily believe Wilkinson would take the opportunity to assault the princess, but sabotage that would send them directly back into port seemed more than he was capable of on his own. Parks, on the other hand, was obsessed with profit. He would be rich on half the princess's ransom, and he was far more clever. Killian had men out making inquiries, more discreetly than the day before. He might be simply sleeping off a night of drinking, but Killian expected that he had fled when he had figured out his plan had failed.

He gave instructions to Smee while he watched the princess fuss over Fergus. She had his face in her hands and was examining the bruise around his eye.

"Is there an apothecary nearby?" she asked when Killian came over to her.

"I am sure we can find one," he answered, offering her his arm.

Fergus followed along behind as they left the ship and headed into the village. They received some strange looks, he in his leather coat with his sword at his hip and her in the mismatched sailor's clothes with her parasol in her hand. But she seemed impervious to the stares, her head high and her hand on his arm. Killian paid them no mind, uncaring what anyone thought.

They found a seamstress's shop, a tiny space filled with bolts of cloth and garments in various stages of completion. The seamstress, an older woman with gray hair and a pincushion fastened to her wrist, looked up from her needle when they entered.

"My lady requires a new dress, and whatever else she desires," he said, and added, "The cost is no concern."

The woman nodded, and immediately set aside her pile of sewing to usher the princess into a back room. She returned and pulled down several of the partially finished skirts before disappearing again.

Killian sat down to wait, sending Fergus to find out where the local apothecary was located. He rolled his flask between his hands to keep them occupied.

Their time together was coming to an end. Two days at most, to reach her kingdom, and he would have to bid her farewell. No more dinners in his cabin, no more walks on the deck. No more teasing challenges to his authority, no more surprises. No more soft hands and even softer kisses. There would just be him, empty and alone.

Fergus came back and immediately started on his new favourite topic, the sword Killian promised him. He listened to him prattle on, managing a smile for the lad. If it hadn't been for Fergus and his skill with knots, he didn't even want to think about what could have happened. He would find a master metalsmith and spare no expense when it came to his sword.

Princess Emma emerged, dressed in a brown skirt and a leaf-green bodice that laced up the front. The seamstress held a large wrapped parcel.

"To your liking, sir?" she asked.

"Aye," he answered her, and took the princess's hand, bending low over it, "It suits you well, Mistress Jones."

She went pink and rolled her eyes at him. He knew he should stop saying it, but he could hardly call her by her real title in public and he would not put up with anyone else mistaking her for his whore.

Killian paid the woman while Fergus hefted the parcel. The cabin boy led the way and the princess walked next to him, holding his free hand. Killian followed a step behind. He saw people looking at her again, but they were the looks of admiration for a beautiful woman. She didn't seem to notice these stares either, but he did, and when he saw a man eye her from across the street and start to make his way over, Killian fell in step next to her and put his hand possessively on her back. She smiled at him before turning her attention back to Fergus, and he glanced over his shoulder and saw the man slink away.

At the apothecary's she had them bring out all their skin ointments and salves, discussing the merits of each one with Fergus held firmly against her side. The lad was squirming in embarrassment as the tall reedy man leaned over the counter and poked at his face, recommending this remedy over that one while the princess nodded along and asked questions about the ingredients. Killian leaned on a bare spot of wall and answered Fergus's imploring look with a shrug. While he was immensely grateful for what the boy had done, he wasn't going to rescue him from her ministrations. Better she worry and fuss over Fergus than start crying again. The sound of her broken sobs had hurt him more than he ever thought possible and made him think terrible dark thoughts.

"That alright?" she asked, turning and holding a jar up. Killian hadn't been paying attention but he nodded, he'd buy whatever she chose.

"So that, oh, and some plain soap, please."

That piqued his interest and he went over to the counter.

"Soap?"

"I ran out last night," she explained.

Killian waved the apothecary back over, "Not plain, fetch the best you have."

"Captain, you really don't have to..."

He cut off her protests, "Mistress Jones, do you really want plain, or do you prefer the soap I bought for you?"

She looked down, "The rose-scented." she admitted.

"Roses," Killian said firmly to the man, bringing out his purse.

Back on the Jolly she took Fergus down below to see to his face and Killian reminded her to put some of the ointment on her wrists as well.

"Any word?" he asked Smee.

"No sign of him anywhere. Do you really think Tom had something to do with it?

"If he didn't, why did he leave?" Killian pointed out.

Smee nodded, and said hesitantly, "Keswick wants to speak with you, sir."

"Keswick can bloody well wait until I decide to speak to him."

He hadn't forgotten about his second mate's punishment but Keswick would have to sweat it out. He'd been booted out of his cabin and back to the communal crew quarters, but Killian was far from done with him.

Evening fell with no word about Parks. He didn't like loose ends, but it seemed like he would have to let this one dangle, they couldn't tarry here any longer. Killian gave the order to cast off at first light. The bath had been emptied and taken out of his cabin and a cot set up in it's place. He gave the princess privacy to ready herself to retire, and he came back in to find her facing the wall, the blankets pulled up so that only her hair was visible.

He did another fast change and laid down on the cot.

"Sleep well, Princess."

She didn't reply and he thought she had fallen asleep already, when he heard the rustle of movement.

"Captain?"

"Hmm?"

"You said I only had to ask..."

Killian shot out of the cot and slid into the bed next to her almost in one movement. Her arms went around his neck and he kissed her, feeling her lips part and welcome him into her mouth. Her hands started wandering up and down his back this time, tracing the ridge of his spine down to his waist.

"Anywhere," he said in between kisses, "Anything."

"I don't know what..I never..." she whispered.

He wished there was more light so that he could see her face properly. All he could make out were the outlines, but the nervousness was clear in her voice. Killian pulled back slightly and lay on his side.

"May I touch you, Princess?"

His breath caught as he waited for her to answer. She didn't say anything, but she took his hand and pulled it towards her.

He started at her face, thumbing over her cheekbones and across her jaw, down her neck and to the hollow of her throat. He felt her swallow, and he went across her shoulder and down her arm. She was wearing some kind of short-sleeved nightdress, he went back up her arm and fingered the material. He brushed his hand across her chest, well above her breasts, and her arm moved. He felt her own hand set onto his hip, and same as that morning, he was hard and ready for her touch slightly lower down.

Killian bent his head, pressing their foreheads together and shifting slightly closer to her. Her breath caressed his face and he kissed her again, sliding his tongue across her lips until she opened them for him. He slid his hand down her chest slowly, and the soft swell of her breast filled his palm.

She gasped, pulling away from his mouth, "It feels so different when it's you."

Dark suspicion flitted through his mind, "Did Wilkinson touch you here?"

He felt her nod, and he saw absolute red. He was going to cut the man's hands off and castrate him with a rusty razor. He yanked his hand away, certain that she couldn't possibly want to feel him touching her in the same place.

His voice was a ragged wisp of breath, "I'm sorry."

Princess Emma took his wrist and pulled determinedly.

"Make me forget. Show me what it's supposed to feel like."

He would do anything she asked. Killian cupped her breast, groaning at the feel of her nipple through the thin dress. It hardened under his fingers, and he rolled it carefully to a tight peak. Her hand clutched at his hip again before sliding over to the curve of his arse. He palmed her whole breast, his eyes slamming shut. Bloody hell, she was going to be the death of him. All he could think about was how it would feel to have that hand on his arse while he was buried deep inside her.

He rolled onto his stomach, pressing his hips against the mattress. He felt her lean over him and press kisses against the line of his shoulders, so soft and gentle. Killian wanted desperately to be gentle with her but he didn't know if he could.

He had to be. She had seen darkness and cruelty because of him and he had to show her something better.

The nightdress gathered loosely at the neck and was tied with a ribbon. He undid the bow with a shaking hand and slid down the bed, pulling the dress over her shoulders and burying his face into her bare breasts. Killian covered them with his mouth, hoping that she would only ever remember this. He kneaded one in his hand while he took the other nipple between his teeth, careful and slow. He tongued the tip and she shuddered. He did it again and she moaned. Her hands sank into his hair, holding his head in place. Not that he planned on going anywhere.

If anyone interrupted them now they'd get thrown clear off the ship.

She was lying on her back. He leaned over her, lavishing his attention on each breast in turn. His cock throbbed and ached between his legs, and he rubbed it into the bed hard, trying to find some relief. One shift of his hips and he'd be on top of her. Killian pulled himself up and found her lips, thrusting his tongue in the way he wanted to thrust into her down below. He pressed himself against her leg and she moved, making him rock against her thigh. The bit of friction, coupled with the feel of her breasts against his chest and his own wild imagination was enough to make him spill over like an overeager lad. Shocked, he collapsed into the pillow and felt her thread her fingers through his hair and run a soothing hand down his back.

He left the bed to clean up and change again, banging his head against the wardrobe door and hearing a feminine giggle at his curse. When he came back and laid down, the princess curled instantly into his side and traced the shape of his heart on his chest over and over again until she fell asleep.

Killian lay awake. He played with strands of her hair and listened to her breathe while he stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't deny it to himself any longer.

He was in love with her.

And she was going to leave him.

She wanted to go home. She had asked him to take her, she had begged, and she had trusted that he would. That fragile bit of trust was the only reason she had come back. She trusted him, and he had promised her, he had given his word.

He could keep her with him. Killian could order the ship to turn around and take her far away from her kingdom, to the other side of the ocean. He could lock her in his quarters and never let her go. He could break his promise, go back on his word, he was a pirate! He wasn't a man she could trust, his word meant nothing, his promises were lies.

For a moment he was going to do it, he was absolutely certain. Give in to the dark grasping pirate side of himself and take what he wanted. He wanted her, the most valuable treasure he had ever held in his hands.

She would hate him.

She would absolutely despise him.

She would never stop trying to escape, and she would succeed.

She'd probably take Fergus along with her.

She would never, ever love him.

Princess Emma lay next to him, her hand on his heart. The choice was clear, break his own heart, or break hers.

A gentleman was only as good as his word. He knew what his brother would do. He knew what he would have done, before, when he still had honour and believed in good form and the importance of duty.

Killian closed his eyes.

She would go where he couldn't follow.

He would keep his promise and take her home.


End file.
